


Keeper of the Harem

by Elphen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Mycroft, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Building bonds, Comfort, Drugging, Harems, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure John, Insecure Sherlock, Insecurity, Investigations, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Oblivious, Omega John, Omega Verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pheromones, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sherlock, Protective John, Protective Sherlock, Riding, Rut, Scent Bond, Scenting, Scents & Smells, Self-Lubrication, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Being Idiots, Strong John, Strong Sherlock, Sweet Talk, Teamwork, Topping from the Bottom, Trust, Vulnerable Sherlock, character cameos, cynical thoughts, deteriorating scent bond, determined Sherlock, determined john, infatuated sherlock, john takes no shit, out of his depth, ruthless sherlock, self-deprecation, servitude, standing your ground, steely John, unfair systems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-01-20 23:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 115,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12444441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: Sherlock's investigating a case for Mycroft that requires him to get some files in a building that's suspected to house Omegas illegally for exploitation. Not that Sherlock cares, really, even if he is an Alpha. It's all just transport, after all.One scent captures his attention, however, and sends him into Rut. The owner of that scent helps him through it but afterwards, he wakes up with almost no memory of what happened, except the persistent feeling that he has an Omega somewhere. More than that, an Omega that he needs.Finding his Omega proves to be anything but easy and involves delving into a less than pleasant side of the industry surrounding secondary genders. Once he does find him...





	1. Elusive, intriquing scents, unexpected reactions

**Author's Note:**

> Another Omegaverse from me? What a twist :) What can I say? I like what can be done with the whole thing. :)  
> It's another one that's been rattling around in my brain for something close to a year now and I finally had a bit of time to work on it.

He stubbed his toe. Hard, because he couldn’t see a thing in the utter darkness of the room and consequently, he hadn’t seen the table standing just a few feet from the window he had slipped in by. Biting back a small groan of pain, he paused to let his toe stop throbbing and hindering him and to get accustomed to the darkness, his eyes adjusting and finding just that tiny bit of light that made it possible to navigate around the room.

It came after a few moments of staring and blinking alternatively and he sighed and moved on. He had information to find and it would only be found in this building.

Lestrade had warned him not to go. Well, at least he would have done if the detective inspector had any clue that he had decided to come here. Or maybe he would just have sighed heavily, giving it up as a bad job before he even started. Sometimes, it was difficult to believe the man was an Alpha rather than a Beta, with that attitude.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was the chase, the challenge, the case and he thought he had found a promising one.

For a start, there was no electronic trace. No digital files to be accessed, no databanks that were conveniently open to a little bit of prodding. Everything had been carefully, deliberately kept analogue, which meant that if Sherlock was to gain any useful pieces of information, he would have to do it the old-fashioned way.

Hence why he was now creeping through a large townhouse in Dean Street, located on the corner of the road and therefor very large indeed. On the outside, it was quite mundane and respectable, almost excessively so.

There was a point where trying not to stand out made you stand out like a sore thumb and these people had blown past that point a long time ago.

Not that he was all that interested in the moral rights and wrongs. If they wanted to defraud the Crown for millions of pounds with the aid of unscrupulous businessmen and desperate young Omegas that were ready to give up their unplanned babies to the black market for lack of options or want of money, then that was their problem, not his.

Or rather, it wouldn’t have been if Mycroft hadn’t thought he ought to poke his great, fat nose into it and then make Sherlock go and investigate, so discreet measures could be taken afterwards to remedy it.

Pushing that firmly back out of his mind as utterly irrelevant at this moment in time, Sherlock continued his trawl through the house. He’d dismissed the area he’d arrived at immediately, as that was the back of the official area on the ground floor that was accessible to every Tom, Dick and Harry that decided to pass by. Nothing of any import would be placed there. These people weren’t even cleverly stupid enough to try that, putting the evidence out in plain view where no one would believe they were.

Moving further up, he went through the first floor without much luck, either. The second floor had some interesting filing cabinets with even more interesting documents. To the casual observer, they seemed to be normal ledgers and rather dully meticulous ones, at that, but there were letters that had a particular tilt to them and if –

His train of thought was suddenly derailed. For a split second, he had trouble deciphering what was the cause. Then he took another breath and that inhalation brought a new wave of scent flooding into his nostrils at the same time as the quiet, yet clearly audible sound he’d heard came again.

He rolled his eyes and switched to breathing through his mouth instead.

Honestly, if they were going to have Omegas in the building like they had, they could at least make sure there were someone there to see them through their Heats with the minimum of fuss.

On the other hand, that might prove a good distraction for anyone who’d still be in the building, perusing the wares, so to speak. Alphas did have an annoying tendency to think with their lower extremities in such circumstances, after all.

Sherlock didn’t worry about himself in that scenario. Alpha though he was, he’d never felt any real attraction to an Omega, beyond what was purely physical stimulation brought on by biology, and so he could remain calm and collected when other Alphas were behaving like prehistoric thugs.

That wasn’t to say that he was never affected by the pheromones put out by the gentle secondary gender, as demonstrated just now. He had a fully functional nose, after all, and his previous drug habit hadn’t caused any permanent damage to his body. He was merely capable of ignoring the siren call.

What puzzled him slightly, and what was probably the reason his thoughts had been derailed, had not been the scent on its own. It had been the fact that it came along with so many others, as a sort of potpourri pressed into a very compact little package that assaulted the senses.

He put the ledger he was examining down on the table so he could take a few quick photos with his phone, getting close enough that he might get legible pictures without having to use the flash or turn on a light. After doing that with a few more interesting-looking documents that he found, he pocketed his phone and put everything back where he’d found it. Well, more or less, anyway.

Even breathing through his mouth, he was still picking up slight traces of pheromone-ridden scent as he continued his search through the second floor and it only grew as he neared the stairs to the third floor.

When he got to the landing of that floor, there was no mistaking that was where it came from. He considered ignoring the floor; the Omegas’ lodgings could have hardly any relevant information.

Then, as he turned away to go further up the stairs, there was a change in the miasma of scent emanating from the rooms on the floor. Or rather, something that had run as an undercurrent in the throng took more of a centre stage position and as it did, it crawled into Sherlock’s nose, despite his continued breathing through his mouth.

Once it did, his body gave a very involuntary shudder of pleasure and his mouth watered.

_Good grief, they ought to get a proper ventilation system if the concentration of Omega scents is that pungent out on the landing._

He pressed his finger against his nostrils, preventing any more scent from making its way in there, in the sincere belief that it’d be enough to dispel his momentary fog of carnal interest.

It wasn’t.

Even though the scent was indeed blocked, the notes of it lingered in his nose, tantalizing and teasing him with the promise of more.

He frowned, puzzled by his own reaction. The purely physical response he might be able to understand but it wasn’t limited to that. Instead, his mind started to work against him, too, wondering just what kind of Omega could produce such a decidedly wonderful scent, subdued and subtle but more powerful and seductive for that. Surely, it couldn’t hurt to get just one more inhalation of that scent? Just the one and then he’d be back on target.

He removed his finger and breathed in deeply. As he did, he detected even more of that scent and against all logical reason, it was both stronger and more easily detectable among all the others, to the point that he barely registered the other scents the air was heavily permeated with.

Gods, that scent was…why was it so enticing? He’d smelled plenty of Omegas before, both in Heat and outside of it, male and female. He couldn’t remember any of them making him react this way, though that might just as well have been because he’d deleted all such tedious, utterly irrelevant information.

Who could possibly put out that alluring a smell? He needed to find that person. To tell them to stop, somehow, of course. How could anyone be expected to work when there was such a distracting aroma wafting through the air?

Before he was quite aware of what he was doing, he had turned further onto the landing for that floor instead of going upstairs like he meant to, like he ought to. A heavy door separated him from who or what lay beyond, though the pheromones managed to pass through every hole and crevice.

It turned out that it wasn’t locked. Well, it was, but no more than a short bout of lock-picking couldn’t solve. Shouldering the door open, he only paused long enough to locate the few cameras that had been put up. Only one was actually working and he dodged that one easily, his longs legs moving him along fast while his nose led the way.

He was going to find the person who had such an intoxicat – interesting scent, only heightened by the obvious notes of Heat, however long that was going to take him in the apparent cluster of Omegas that had been gathered here. Only so that he could get an idea of how they’d ended up there. Of course.

The immediate problem was that, unlike so many of the other notes that made up the increasingly stronger mass of pheromones, that particular scent was detectable in several directions at once, only a few of them faint enough to be dismissed as residual traces from a touch.

It had to belong to just one person, though. While Omegas who spent a lot of time together would borrow a few scent notes from the others around them, much like their Heats tended to synch up under similar conditions, it never got to the point where two Omegas would effectively have the same scent.

So, it was someone who was around and about, even when they were in Heat or in its preliminary stages. Most Omegas became almost bedridden in their time of physical need, so to find someone who’d move about freely was novel.

As he walked, intent on finding his new target, Sherlock was oddly oblivious to the other reactions his body had, among them sending out his own pheromones in response, trying to entice the Omega he was after into coming out to play.

It wasn’t long before he came to where the majority of the Omegas in the building had to be. It had to be there, given both the smells and the sounds emanating, detectable even through the relatively thick doors.

This door wasn’t locked at all. Head by this point filled to the brim with the haze the positive flood of pheromones brought into every one of his senses, he didn’t properly notice that as he pushed it open.

Once inside, he stopped, his mind wrestling control for a moment to assess the room and the people within. Pale eyes, pupils somewhat dilated, scanned the surprisingly vast room, taking in the opulence, the quality, the softness, the almost cloistered feel of it all. The amount of bodies that practically littered it.

There were no Alphas. There were males and females both but every single person in the room was either an Omega or a Beta. None wore much clothes, if they wore any clothes at all. The age range was relatively large but regardless of that, all of them were, by the standards of society, handsome or beautiful.

Almost all of them noticed him, too. How could they not? In a sea of gentler, sweeter scents, the deep, musky notes of an Alpha scent were as noticeable as a sudden trombone through a flute concert.

How they reacted, however, was nowhere near as universal. Some looked at him with mild interest, more because he was unexpected than any real interest. Some clearly liked what they saw and stared openly. A few people licked their lips while another started towards him. There were also one or two who looked more intimidated and wary than anything else, though perhaps that wasn’t surprising, since they were very young and likely very inexperienced.

Sherlock paid them very little mind, however. None of them smelled like the one he was searching for.

The combined power of so many scents did have the effect of taking his only just re-emerged mind and pushing it down further into the depths of pheromone fog and instincts than it’d been before.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, in the hope that without visual distractions, it’d be easier for his nose to find the trail of the pheromones he was after.

There it was. Right there. Whoever the owner of that scent was, he wasn’t going to lose them.

Opening his eyes only enough to navigate, so that he wouldn’t bump into anything without pushing his sense of smell out of the driving seat, he walked determinedly towards the source.

Which seemed to be one of the Omegas who were wary. That was an extreme understatement, though, as it was more accurate to call it ‘terrified’. The poor thing, a slip of a girl no more than seventeen, at most, gave a high squeak of panic and tried scrambling backwards from where she’d been sitting.

Sherlock, sunken so low into his primal side now that he was fast approaching a Rut, didn’t notice it, however. Nor did he realize that he’d bared his teeth and was growling loudly, aggressively, or that he was pumping out even more pheromones than before.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t notice the figure coming up behind him, either, following just behind. When he reached the girl, who’d been stopped by the unmovable obstacle of a pillar, he loomed over her.

Finally, he found – no, wait, that wasn’t right, the scent wasn’t coming from in front of him, from the girl apart from a few lingering traces. It came from right behind –

Whoever hit him in the back of his head was skilled. It was hard enough and delivered at the right angle to knock him out but not so hard that he would suffer lasting damage from it. Probably.

Down he went, the person who’d hit him grabbing him, possibly so he wouldn’t crack his head open on the floor, possibly just so he wouldn’t land on the girl who stared with eyes as wide as saucers.

 

* * *

 

Waking up took a while and for a moment, he wondered just what kind of chemical cocktail he’d concocted this time to give his brain some peace and whether he’d written down the mix. It seemed to have been rather effective, this time.

Proof of that came when he tried to roll over onto his side and he only then noticed that something was amiss.

He couldn’t move. Or rather, his arms were tied up in a way that only allowed him very little movement. Not only that, they were tied in such a way that he wouldn’t be able to get out of them yet they weren’t digging into his flesh if he didn’t intentionally push into it.

“Do test them, if you like,” a voice said from somewhere close by.

He turned his head in the direction of it to get a look at who was speaking, noting that the scent he’d been after was still clearly present. A blindfold prevented him from seeing much of anything, though.

“I think you’ll find that they’re bound securely,” the voice continued. It was curiously without any inflection.

“Far more securely than is necessary.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.” There was a pause and the sound of bare feet, seemingly, padding softly across relatively thick carpeting. When the voice came again, it was significantly closer. “We can’t have you molesting the young ones, can we? You’re rather coherent for someone in Rut, though, I’ve got to say.”

Sherlock frowned behind the blindfold. In Rut? He didn’t go into _Rut_. He hadn’t been in a Rut since his teens, there was no way he was in one now. For one thing, as the man, judging by his voice, pointed out, he was far more coherent than one should be in Rut. Even given his normal control, the last time he’d experienced a Rut, well…it had felt nothing like this, that was for certain.

“I’m not in _Rut,”_ he sneered, dismissively.

“Oh, no?” the voice asked, a tone now distinguishable; mockingly sweet. “Is there some other reason your entire body is taut like a wire and vibrating and pheromones is pouring off you by the bucket load, then? And, of course, there’s _this.”_

A finger traced a path, light and teasing, from the base of his cock, which was not only out in the open but fully erect and leaking, all the way to the top, where it pressed ever so lightly at the slit.

Not at all expecting neither the touch nor his erect state, Sherlock was even more surprised by the reaction the touch caused in him. He gasped loudly, his hips bucking involuntarily.

“Point proven, I think,” the voice said.

“Let me go.”

A snort sounded. “Right. Of course. I’ll just let someone who clearly broke into the building and tried to assault one of my girls waltz right out of here so he can continue where he left off. What was I thinking?”

“I wasn’t assaulting anyone. I was…” What had he been doing? He tried to think back but it was rather hazy and he couldn’t locate the information. Odd. Wait, there was something.

“There was a…a smell.” In fact, it was still there, tantalizingly, taunting him. Whose was it?

“You broke into a room full of Omegas, of course there was a smell. I suppose I can’t blame you for being a little overwhelmed, I guess. Don’t know what they were thinking, leaving me without any suppressants at hand for them.”

The man sighed. “Would be great if someone would develop a suppressant for Alphas but of course that – oi, what did I just say? Stop that!”

Hands grabbed hold of Sherlock’s wrists, preventing them from pushing against their bonds with all the strength the Alpha could muster.

Sherlock started to snarl but was derailed completely by the sudden proximity to the man and, more importantly, the scent glands at the junction where neck became shoulder.

There it was. Without question, that was it. The room didn’t smell of that scent because of residual traces from somewhere else. It was there because the one producing it was standing right beside him.

He leaned closer, nose almost vibrating in its effort to inhale. The source of scent he’d been after, pure and unsullied by the odours of other people, right there in front of him, begging him to –

His hands were released but only so that one could push his head away, the force of it much greater than what he’d expect from what had to be an Omega, even a male one. There was no way a Beta could smell that enticing.

Still, some small part of his brain which still functioned but also continued to dwindle, noted that only enough force to decidedly push his head away was applied. The man knew something about manhandling others and being efficient about it.

The rest of him, in the clutches of Rut haze and instincts, bridled with the defiance of the Omega. It was clearly in Heat, too, why was it attempting to prevent him from claiming it, at least temporarily? This time, he really did snarl.

“Oh, no,” the unseen man said, moving away. “No, you don’t. Just because you’re in Rut doesn’t give you the right to latch onto the nearest Omega you can find and assume that they’ll be alright…” There was a pause and another sigh. “Look, I’ll come back and look in on you in an hour or two. I’ve got to go do my rounds but I’ll bring you some water and have another look at your head when I do, okay?”

Sherlock merely snarled again and tried to lunge for where he thought the man, the Omega, had stopped.

“Right. I’ll take that as a yes, then, shall I?”

With that, he moved further away, the sound of a door opening and closing the only indication that he left. His scent still hung thick in the air.

 

* * *

 

Two hours passed.

The fact that the owner of the scent had gone from the room did nothing to pull Sherlock out of his Rut. Speech may have returned to him and a modicum of thought, too, but with each inhale, he got another teasing whiff of that bloody enticing scent. It was only slowly fading, which made sure that his mind and body continued stewing in lust.

He’d come twice in that time, even though he was still tied down, unable to touch anything despite his continued attempts to pull himself out of the restraints. The evidence lay streaked across his bare stomach, mixing with the sheen of sweat that coated him. Despite this, his cock still lay hard against his stomach.

Pulling at his bonds wasn’t the only way that he’d tried to get himself free, though if he’d been fully compos mentis, as it were, he’d have scoffed at his lack of imagination. Toppling the bed he lay on would be impossible; it appeared to be bolted into the floor. The restraints were tied to the bedposts expertly so his go at pushing them up and off wasn’t successful, either.

He’d even tried shouting for help, when he’d run out of other options, but there’d been no indication that anyone had heard him. It’d make sense that he’d been put somewhere as far away from any Omega that he might assault or even any Alpha that he might attack.

Why he hadn’t then just been thrown out on his arse and prevented from gaining access again instead of this rather more time-consuming endeavour was unclear and puzzling.

By the time the door opened again, three and a half hours after it had closed, Sherlock was something of a mess. Not so much because he was still in Rut, per se. It had as much to do with how he’d treated his body beforehand, given that he’d been on a case, as the Rut itself but whatever the case, he had expended far more water than his body had to give. Not that he would’ve cared, had he the presence of mind to think of it.

Despite the exhaustion, the moment the door opened, his head turned towards it. There it was again, that delicious scent and it was fresh and interesting and…

He strained, or tried to strain, towards it but though his efforts had slackened the bonds slightly, it wasn’t nearly enough.

The man started to say something but stopped talking almost immediately. Presumably he’d seen just what a state his dallying had left Sherlock in. That would serve him right.

He moved quickly over to the prostrate body, one hand moving to check for a pulse. Otherwise, though, he kept a careful distance from the body.

Odd, Sherlock thought. His head had cleared somewhat as the scent had slowly dwindled, giving him back some thought, and the mussy feeling in his head was more due to dehydration than Rut. The Omega hadn’t seemed afraid of the Alpha before, quite the reverse. Why was he suddenly avoiding contact?

No. I said, no. Don’t bloody well keep struggling, you idiot. You’ve wasted enough energy as it is. Why the hell didn’t I spot that before? Shouldn’t have been gone this long, not with a head like that, shouldn’t have…but if you’re not going to snap out of your Rut this many hours after you’ve smelled an Omega in Heat, then it’s not…”

It trailed off into mutterings as the shape moved around him.

Hands moved around his head. He took the opportunity to get another inhale of the scent and felt his cock stir, even though it had lain dormant for at least the last hour, itself seemingly exhausted. It was idiotic to be this affected but he found that he didn’t care, as long as got to keep inhaling the scent. Nor did it matter whether he’d been hit or not.

So preoccupied was he that it was only when he had to close his eyes against the soft light in the room that he realized his blindfold had been removed.

“There you go,” the man said as he took a step back, ignoring Sherlock’s low, subconscious growl.

“Why did you…take it off?” Sherlock asked, incredulous.

 After all, it’d make far more sense for him to remain unaware of what the man or even his closer surroundings looked like. Keeping him there indefinitely to avoid him telling anyone of the room he’d seen seemed a little too melodramatic.

That moment of clarity didn’t last too long, though.

“Easier to gauge the stage of Rut that way,” the man explained. “Since you don’t appear to be coming out of it on your own, something needs to be done about it and…”

He trailed off as he turned his back to fiddle with something. As he did so, Sherlock opened his eyes and took a moment to assess the Omega with the alluring scent, even if it was only his back.

At first glance, the scent and the image didn’t really match up. From what he could see, and patchily deduce in his state, the figure was relatively average in height, in build and in colour. The scent suggested a sumptuous beauty while the visual image presented a relatively unassuming, normal-looking person.

Although…there was something to that compact form a strength hidden in the muscles and a set to the shoulders that didn’t quite fit with that image, something –

His thoughts were derailed by something shooting into a vein, through a needle he hadn’t felt being inserted into his still-bound hands. No, not a needle, a catheter, which was hooked up to a…

“Just getting some fluids into you, don’t worry,” the Omega said, his voice soothing in a way it hadn’t been previously. He was still keeping as much of a distance as he could. “I ought to stuff you with a few decent meals, too, but it’s not really the time, is it? You do seem a little more lucid than when I left you, despite your dehydration, though. Let me just…”

Sherlock tried to pull his head away but his chin was grabbed, hard enough to prevent him from pulling away, while the man’s free hand used two fingers to open one of the Alpha’s eyes.

“Still quite dilated, though,” he commented. Then he let go of the eye. “And your breathing is a bit too laboured not to be in Rut.”

“You’re very calm.”

The Omega stopped trying to check for other indicators to look at the Alpha. “How do you mean?”

“I’m in Rut and you’re in Heat. Yet you examine me calmly, like I’m a patient.”

The man frowned at that. “I’m not in Heat.”

“Don’t lie. There’s nothing…” Sherlock stopped speaking, his thoughts slowly scattering.

The clarity and presence of mind he’d gained was ebbing away quite fast as the room, the door closed tight, filled with the scent of Omega. More precisely, it filled with the scent of that specific, very interesting Omega and so the brunet’s mind slipped slowly back into the mush of lust it had just managed, with difficulty, to claw itself out of.

“Nothing…” he repeated, trying to gather his thoughts, without any real success. Every time he inhaled, they were scattered again and his efforts were for naught. At the same time, though, he couldn’t bring himself to breathe through his mouth.

The Omega frowned, his blue eyes following the signs of what the Rut was doing to the Alpha. Understanding slowly began to dawn in them. Then, as though to test his theory, he leant over the supine figure so that one of the most scent-ridden parts of the body, the throat, came close to the brunet. Sherlock inhaled deeply almost immediately.

As he pulled back, much to Sherlock’s consternation, the understanding had bloomed fully in the blue eyes.

“You’re…It’s got nothing to do with the girl that – “

“Women…aren’t…my area.”

Oh, gods, why was the Omega still talking? He was in Heat, he could see that Sherlock was seriously affected by his Rut. He had to be soaked to smell that intensely good, how could he not be writhing and moaning for something, some _one_ to fill him? Sherlock was certainly finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on anything but the need to be inside the Omega’s entrance – and he was the one who’d always considered himself above such useless, carnal urges and drives.

His body didn’t seem to care that it was low on fluids. He was salivating and his erection was dripping precum at a steady rate.

“Rut’s got nothing to do with sexual preferences, though. Neither does Heat. But if it’s…”

“Don’t leave!” Sherlock growled. If he could, he would’ve lunged to prevent the smaller man from leaving. As it was, the bonds strained against his wrists hard.

“Oi, don’t do that! I said – “

The Omega reached out to try and stop the Alpha but since he at the same time tried his best not to touch the brunet’s skin, he created something of a balancing act. One which Sherlock was quite happy to try and tip in his favour, as it were.

His feet had been tied down as well, but his knees hadn’t and so he pulled away as much as he could in his bonds. As the smaller man then stretched further and further to grab his hands, failing to notice that Sherlock was no longer pulling at his bonds as such, the Alpha scooted down to bend his knee and swing it to the side.

It wasn’t much movement but it was just enough to push at the back of the knee of the already wobbly Omega, which caused him to overbalance. Sadly, he didn’t then fall completely on top of Sherlock but halfway like he did, with his hands grabbing onto Sherlock’s shoulder, would do in a pinch. Especially as it also gave the Alpha a good access to the throat.

“Bloody hell!” the Omega groused, not at all pleased. “For someone who’s supposed to be in the throes of Rut, you’re…rather…co-coherent…and…and…” He stuttered and faltered in his speech.

The reason for that was the proximity between their bodies, more specifically, their upper bodies. A proximity that Sherlock wasn’t above taking advantage of. So, he’d leaned in as much as he could and let his tongue trace a path up the left side of the blond’s throat as far as he could, making sure that he at least touched the scent gland.

Any Omega, in or outside of Heat, was sensitive around the scent glands, especially the one located on the throat, on whichever side was the dominant one. That was, after all, the one that was meant to be pierced by the Alpha’s teeth when the intention was to bond. The pleasure signals caused by the sensitivity were meant to distract the Omega from the pain of the penetrating teeth.

Consequently, when Sherlock started to lick continuously at it, it’d be almost impossible for the Omega not to react. Factor in the Alpha pheromones that had been filling the room in the time he’d been stuck in there and it was no wonder that the man reacted like he did.

Despite this, to the Alpha’s frustration, although there were moans and little sighs, there was no melting into him, no sign that he was giving into the Heat Sherlock was convinced that he was in.

Too soon, he pulled away. Interestingly, though, he didn’t make any attempt to climb all the way off or even slap the Alpha for assaulting him, which wouldn’t be an unreasonable reaction, biology-driven behaviour or not. That he sat back on his haunches, which positioned his arse tantalizing, maddeningly close to the straining erection underneath.

The blue eyes, only slightly dilated, looked at the body underneath him, considering him. You’re not going to give up, are you? I’m apparently the one who’s got you this agitated but…you’re clearly not going to come out of your Rut on your own and if I leave – “

“Don’t!”

“Yeah, that. Precisely that. I’m not risking you injuring yourself or others because you’re that stuck in your base instincts. So…” he trailed off, looking thoughtful.

Sherlock was just about to try another lunge when the man sat down all the way and his thoughts then centred on the pressure on his cock. He gasped and shut his eyes briefly, momentarily overcome by the unexpected stimulation.

The Omega was unbuttoning his rather homely-looking, somewhat worn shirt when he opened them again. There was no real finesse to it; he was merely divesting himself of clothing, not attempting to put on a show of any kind. Not that it mattered, since the pale, heavily diluted eyes followed the movement of the fingers keenly, intent on every piece of skin that was revealed. He wasn’t aware of how he was licking his lips.

Once the shirt was entirely open, it was shucked off. The blond then paused again, his hands resting on the hem of his trousers.

“Could you…if I untie you, you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

Despite his current state, Sherlock did have enough wits about him still, just about, to level a rather withering look at the man.

“Your track record so far doesn’t really sell that, you know. But alright, I’ll do it. If you at any point move so that the IV falls out, this, “ – he gave a pointed little wriggle, which earned him a muffled groan – “this stops immediately. Is that understood?”

The last sentence was delivered in such a tone of command that had the Alpha nodding almost instantly.

A small, enigmatic smile graced the blond’s lips. Then he leant forward, ostensibly to untie the brunet’s wrists. At the same time, though, he also pressed his lips to the cupid bow ones. Sherlock pressed back immediately, attempting to dominate the kiss from the start. His conscious mind didn’t care who was the dominant one. In Rut, however, his instincts were in the driving seat and they didn’t like being dominated by an Omega like that.

The blond let him, opening his mouth willingly. He gave as good as he got, though, not yielding territory without contestation. Their tongues battled for supremacy, Sherlock marvelling in the back of his mind that the Omega tasted as good as he smelled. It was hard, right then and there, to remember why he’d ever want to avoid Omegas and their Heats; he never wanted to let that sensation go.

Once his hands were free, Sherlock stood by his unspoken promise and didn’t attempt anything stupid. What he did do was reach for the front of the man’s pants, opening them quickly and efficiently. He then slid his hands inside and started to slide the material down as far as it could go, only pausing momentarily to fondle the arse that felt rather lovely under his hands.

The Alpha inside of him was pleased to note that despite the Omega’s protestations to the contrary, there was both something tenting the front of the red boxers and a tell-tale wetness soaking the back of them. He was indeed in Heat.

That assumption seemed further confirmed by the quiet, strangled noises of pleasure coming from the man, made into their still open-mouthed kissing, and the way that he’d pressed into the contact of Sherlock’s hands.

The trousers pushed as far down as they could go, given their current positioning, Sherlock didn’t immediately dive in for his prize. He pulled back slightly and took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the body on top. It might not have been called traditionally attractive for an Omega but to Sherlock, the compact body, the muscles, the scars were interesting and combined with the scent and the taste, he was a treat.

Sherlock growled appreciatively and, without any preamble, grabbed hold of the cock through the cloth covering. The body above him bucked somewhat into the touch and the Alpha smiled devilishly. He could get a better reaction than that, surely.

When he went to slide his other hand, the other rubbing at the heated flesh beneath it, into the tight garment, however, he was stopped. His questing hand, the one with the IV embedded, was grabbed and pulled away. He growled, not pleased at being denied, and pressed more firmly8 against the straining prick beneath his hand.

“What did I, mmh, just say? Oh, fuck, that’s…mmh, yeah, that’s…gods, hold on.”

Still keeping a firm hold on Sherlock’s hand, the shorter man shuffled forwards, hampered by the trousers. Once almost flush with the pale upper body, he managed, with the brunet’s help, to slip his pants down to join his trousers.

As soon as his cock was free, Sherlock was hit with another blast of scent. It sent a violent shudder through him. Since he was now within a much better reach, he took the opportunity to bend as much as he could so he could envelop the Omega’s relatively generous cock. He was helped by the blond pushing his hips upwards eagerly.

“Yes…” the Omega hissed as cupid bow lips slipped around the head of his erection.  “Gods, yes, that’s…unh, yeah, just like that, just like...” The tongue had circled the head once then slid briefly into the slit, lapping up what moisture it could get.

The Alpha moaned, pleased with the taste that was surprisingly musky for a male Omega’s meagre seed output. The moan vibrated through the man and he gave a gasp and a shiver in response.

The lips slid slowly down, the tongue moving up and down and around in counterpoint to that pace. Sherlock felt fingers sliding into the hairs at the back of his head to tangle themselves firmly in there, possibly as much as an anchor as any encouragement or warning.

The Omega didn’t want to let go of him. Good. That was how it should be. This Omega was his and he should be making as many noises of pleasure for his Alpha as possible.

Following that line of thought, which was more instincts than anything else, really, Sherlock moved his free hand slowly, slowly up and around, not touching any skin until his index and middle finger pressed against the outer rim. A rim which was wet and soft enough that his fingers started to slide inside almost immediately, without any real resistance.

The hand gripping the Alpha’s squeezed hard while a small, drawn-out moan escaped the man. The hips pressed back into the contact but then almost immediately rocked forwards again. As the cock in his mouth glided further in, Sherlock hollowed his cheeks as much as possible.

When the man withdrew to impale himself further on the two wonderfully long fingers, the brunet stopped sucking and only lapped at the shaft as it pulled away. Instead, the fingers circled and twisted as the sank into that warm, tight passage that was only becoming slicker and slicker with each passing seesaw motion.

Sherlock’s own erection was achingly hard, twitching and leaking copiously. Despite that and the instincts insisting that he claim that tight passage he was fingering with his cock instead, he was in no hurry to get there. There were more pressing needs.

He wanted to see the Omega sink into his Heat to the point that he’d be more than willing to let the Alpha bite him, binding them together. The small vestiges of his rational mind that was left operating piped up to inform him just what a spectacularly bad idea that was and began to list all the reasons for them. He soundly ignored it.

His fingers, all three of them slowly getting thoroughly soaked, brushed their knuckles across that special bundle of nerves while the tips managed to press into the start of that smaller, more secret, coveted inner entrance.

That did the trick; the Omega went rigid as he spilled himself into the Alpha’s waiting mouth, uttering a deepfelt noise somewhere between a throaty groan and a high keen. His free hand grabbed hold of Sherlock’s shoulder, digging his fingers in hard. Sherlock’s fingers were almost pushed out by the spasming of the passage they were buried in while slick ran down his hand and forearm.

Sherlock groaned at the feeling, which only caused the body above him to shudder even more and the cock in his mouth to shoot out more semen. It held the same sort of notes that made the scent so alluring. He could get high off that smell, properly high.

He continued to lick and suck until every last bit was gone. When it was, he let the cock slide slowly from his mouth. Looking up, he was very pleased to note the expression of post-orgasmic bliss settling over the blond’s face. Even more than that, he could calculate that the very tight grip the hand had on his shoulder would cause a bruise.

That thought pleased him. It was only right that he should have a mark on him, given how he, Sherlock, intended to mark him for good with the bond bite.

What didn’t please him, however, was how, as soon as the shuddering stopped, the Omega seemed to come back to himself, at least to a degree that Sherlock wouldn’t have expected. Not when he was in Heat and there was no doubt left that he was.

“Fucking hell, that was…gods, you should stay…” the blond muttered through light panting, settling back into his previous position, “but we can’t. Can’t keep you. Not as an…I want to keep you but that’s…it’s bad enough as it is, with the people we’ve already got but…” He trailed off

Sherlock’s vestiges of rational thought found the half-formed sentences very interesting and tried to commit them to the Mind Palace while the rest of the mind was otherwise occupied.

The rest of him tried to pull the body above him back, sadly without success.

Blue eyes opened to look at him, their depths filled with something undefinably melancholic and he got a wry, slightly sardonic smile. “Suppose I might as well get as much out of this as I can, then, right?” he said.

Sherlock might’ve asked what he meant by that but his instincts were pushing to the front and dominating progressively more and they demanded that he claim the Omega now. That he’d fill him up with so much seed that his stomach would be bulging with it by the time he was done, a precursor to the way it’d bulge with the life he’d fuck into him.

The hand that’d gripped his shoulder earlier ran through his sweaty curls in what could only be called a soothing, caring gesture. He pressed into it, pleased by it in a way that his nothing to do with his Alpha instincts.

“Robbed you of speech, has it?” the blond murmured. “No wonder, given how long you’ve been denied, as it were. It’s impressive that you haven’t torn the room apart – or me, come to think of it. You really would’ve been something to keep.” He sighed, somewhat wistfully.

Then he seemed to shake it off. The hand still intertwined with the broader one pulled free and gently removed the IV. “Just for the moment,” he said, though whether it was an actual warning wasn’t clear.

Not that Sherlock minded either way. He was much more focused on being allowed to use both hands freely and used the opportunity to run his hands across every part of the exposed, tanned skin that he could reach while the other did the same to him.

He also took the opportunity to run the scent glands located at his wrists along the skin, rubbing as much of his scent off on the Omega as he could get away with. It’d not only be another way of marking the man as his, it should hopefully also help send the Omega deeper into his Heat.

Soon enough, though, the exploration turned to more of an insistent guiding and tugging. He needed to be inside the Omega, to feel those soft, tight walls squeeze around him like they had his fingers as he plunged in and in, showing the man just who the Alpha was, who _his_ Alpha was.

The man let himself be manhandled like that for a moment but then he resisted. Reaching behind himself with the hand that wasn’t resting on the upper part of a pale chest, he grabbed hold of Sherlock’s long, aching shaft. He guided it towards his dripping entrance, doing a far better job of it than the Alpha who was shaking somewhat.

Once the head had parted the outer rim, the blond let go and instead pushed down with his hips. The motion was helped by Sherlock’s hips bucking up at the same time, sliding all the way into the passage in one long, blissful move that had both men groaning deeply.

The throbbing cock slowly slid back out then rammed in again hard. However, it was the Omega that set the pace, not the Alpha; pulling off then impaling himself almost forcefully, with no sign that he had difficulty maintaining the posture.

“If you so much as think of trying to flip or otherwise dominate me,” he’d growled just before he’d started to move, blue eyes glinting as he spoke, “I’ll make you wish that you’d been born a Beta.”

A little bit of Sherlock’s brain must’ve woken back up; he noted the tone as well as the words and made the connection. The Omega had not only had Alphas trying to dominate him, it had been an unpleasant enough experience for him to have adverse, instinctive reactions to it now.

The way the lips curled convinced him not to try for a kiss right then, either.

Then the blond had started moving and it had become hard to concentrate on anything but that hot, tight, slippery hole that was sucking him in so greedily. The perfect way that his Omega fitted, not just around his cock but with the rest of his body. The golden skin against the pale, the blond against the brown, the compact body against the long, lean one. Wonderful compliments that would only become more so soon.

He would fuck this Omega so well until he was begging for him to stop, to keep going, to knot him, to fill him so much that his womb bulged, over and over. To bite and claim him and take him away from this place that was so utterly unworthy of him.

He was dimly aware that he was not only growling and panting but also producing words. Words which were more or less a vocalisation of the more or less coherent thoughts he had.

What came from the man above him he paid somewhat more attention to.

“Oh, gods…that’s just, just…mmh, yes. Fuck, I shouldn’t be…you smell so damn good, though…” he moaned, “and feel even better. If I _were_ in Heat, I’d…Mmmh, feels so good, so thick…want you to, want you to knot me. Knot me so hard, fill me with come, fill me with babies…you’d give me so pretty babies.”

He tilted his hips backwards somewhat, thereby changing the angle, which must’ve been enough for the member inside of him to push again something extra sensitive; his breath hitched and a full-body shudder ran through him, then another.

Pushing himself up into an upright sitting position, the Omega guided the Alpha’s hands to his hips, the implication clear. Sherlock gladly obliged, helping to keep himself inside as he pushed upwards with more and more strength and speed.

He was met with the same enthusiastic movement from the blond who was practically bouncing on his cock. The head was thrown back and all that come from the mouth was a string of pants and moans. A hand was wrapped around the Omega’s hard-again prick, stroking hard and fast, though it was unclear whether it was to match speeds or make up for the previous neglect.

The pace increased, the room filled with nothing but moans, groans and wet slapping while their nostrils drowned in overwhelming scents.

As his hands gripped the hips tight enough to leave bruises, Sherlock noticed that what he’d taken for regular scars around that area were scars of a rather different kind; several stretch marks ran across not only the hips but the whole front. Rather tell-tale stretchmarks of varying age.

Realisation dawned.

With it came a mental image of the Omega above him, bouncing as he was now, his belly, overly stuffed with child, moving along with it. Stretchmarks both old and new ran across that dome, the curve looking absurd and gorgeous on that compact, strong frame.

Not only was the Omega fertile, he’d carried before, more than once, without having a bond mate there to help him.

The thought of the blond burdened not just with offspring, but _Sherlock’s_ offspring sent a very unexpected jolt through the Alpha’s entire body. He pressed up one more time while pressing the Omega down at the same time, the knot expanding very fast as he did so. It trapped him inside and pressed against the prostate hard.

The blond cursed as his muscles clamped down instinctively, squeezing around the shaft, which was enough to send Sherlock over the edge. He came with a roar, his semen shooting deep inside the passage. The Omega in turn howled in pleasure as he too came, his entrance and cock spilling. It turned into a keen as he felt himself getting filled up, his muscles milking the member for all they could.

Even through the haze of orgasm, a rather forceful one at that, Sherlock’s instincts demanded that he take the Omega, bite him and claim him truly as his. There’d be no other Alphas for the lovely creature, ever.

As he strained upwards in a bid for the scent gland at the throat, however, he once again learned that no matter what, the Omega wasn’t about to let others dominate him. He moved an arm up in the path of the mouth so that it was his forearm that ended with the teeth embedded in it. There was no pulling away, as the jaw locked in place, to make sure that the gland was properly pierced.

Sherlock growled again, as much as he could with his mouth full.

The man smiled, a sad, wistful note to it once again.

“I know, love, I know. It’d be very nice, I’m sure, but I can’t allow you to bite me. It’s bad enough that I’ve allowed all of this.”

He leant forward to press a soft kiss to the forehead plastered with sweaty curls. Pulling back, he ran a hand through the curls in what could only be described as a comforting gesture.

“That said, I wouldn’t have changed this for the world. Thank you.”

Sherlock only barely registered the words. Not particularly well-nourished before, what with having been on a case and all, his body had seized on the post-orgasmic comedown and decided that it was time to rest. His eyes fluttered madly as he fought to stay awake.

Hush now, love, it’s okay. Go to sleep. I’ll be right here, I promise.”

With that, the Alpha lost the feeble fight against his body. His eyes slid slowly shut and he slumped back on the bed, head coming to rest awkwardly against the headboard, the forearm falling from his mouth as he quickly slid into sleep.

However, his hands didn’t loosen the grip they had on the Omega’s hips until he was deeply asleep and his knot had softened.

The man let him slide out but didn’t immediately climb off the prone body. Instead, he bent to retrieve the IV drip that he’d laid carefully on the edge of the bed. Carefully he guided the needle into the vein on the other hand without any resistance or acknowledgement, noting with worry and some distaste the rather obvious small marks littering the inside of the man’s forearms.

“You’d think Alphas wouldn’t have need to escape the reality they created,” he muttered under his breath. Still, I suppose you had your reasons, stupid though they probably were. But that means we’re got to up the dose a bit for this next one.”

He did climb off then, moving over to the things he’d brought with him. He’d originally intended to use the sedative before but then, he’d thought the man had come somewhat out of his Rut by then, not sunken deeper into it. Giving an Alpha in Rut sedatives could have some long-term damage to their system.

“Good thing I brought a good dose,” he said softly as he slid the tip of the syringe into the second catheter on the IV so as not to disturb the fluid intake, disgorging its contents slowly and carefully. The eyelids fluttered in response but there were no moans or other indication of notice.

Once the syringe was empty, the Omega stepped back away from the bed. He sighed heavily and put a hand to his stomach, rubbing it gently.

“I didn’t even think to ask your bloody name,” he said to the sleeping figure. He paused then, with another sigh, moved up to plant one last kiss on the cupid bow lips, lingering.

He then went out of the room, closing the door behind him with finality.


	2. Retracing your steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wakes up in a hotel room with almost no memory of what's happened. Only the vaguest things about the Omega can he remember. But his scent still lingers in the Alpha's nostrils and mind and, despite denying to himself any attachment or sentiment, he goes out of his way to find out at least something about the Omega he can't help think of as his.  
> Meanwhile, John tries to go about his daily business while thoughts of the handsome Alpha keep floating through his mind. He can't afford to think about him, let alone look for him, but one can't always help one's thoughts and dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...I'm really astonished that it's been received this well so far. Thank you everyone for giving it a chance and especially to those whose comments have cheered me on! So very greatly appreciated.
> 
> Apologies for making you wait a little over three weeks. I've really, really worked hard on it to get it out in better time but real life gets in the way sometimes. It's a 10k chapter, though, perhaps that makes up for it. I hope so.

When Sherlock woke up, it was with a pounding head that left him disorientated even as he clawed his way back to consciousness.

Squinting hard against the light in the room as he sat up, he had the distinct feeling that the disorientation wasn’t purely caused by the headache.

It wasn’t the fact that he’d woken up somewhere that wasn’t his home. He’d done that more than once, often not intentionally. It wasn’t that big a deal. It was stranger that he only had his underwear on but that wasn’t the reason, either.

It was more…something felt off. Not his head or his tongue or even the strange sense of contentment in his entire body that he’d have to examine more closely later. He tried to cast his mind back to why he would possibly be in what had to be a hotel bed, judging by the quality of the thread in the covers and the amount of chemicals used on it on a regular basis.

There was the case he’d been working, one given to him by Mycroft about a ring of people buying and selling Omegas and their offspring. He’d gone to some house to find some information that couldn’t be accessed through digital means, he did and secured some decent enough photos of the documents and then…then…

After that, it was almost a complete blank. There was a vague recollection of blond hair and an amazing scent but that was about the extent of it, no matter how deeply he searched in his memory.

He got up, noting that his clothes were folded on the bedside chair with a type of military precision that he couldn’t be bothered with. Military precision, though…

Had he just deleted it? he wondered as he got dressed. No, because then he would have done a far better job of it and there would be no vague recollections at all. It didn’t feel like coming down of a regular high, either, though.

So, what was it? Why couldn’t he recall? It felt important that he should and not because of Mycroft’s stupid case.

He tried scouring the room he’d woken up in for any little hint but apart from the way his clothes had been folded, there was nothing of any proper use to him. Nothing had been left behind and the room didn’t smell of anything except the chemical concoction that was used in scent removers. The faint, trademark scent of bergamot and lemon had always rubbed him the wrong way.

Shrugging on his coat, he decided to leave the room. He would shower when he got home, after examining his own bodies for clues. He couldn’t think in this horrible scent and he wanted to get out before it tampered with whatever traces might be left on his body.

That he wouldn’t have any trace on his body, he very much doubted. The pleasant lethargy in his bones was pretty revealing on its own.

He checked the phone that, like his wallet, hadn’t been taken or even pilfered. There were a series of missed calls, mostly from Mycroft, and some texts from Lestrade. He ignored them all, pocketed his phone and strode out of the room.

Nobody stopped him on the way out of the presentable but in no way expensive looking hotel. Once outside, he looked around but it wasn’t an area of London that he was very familiar with. It was in an area that was more on the downturn than the upturn but just respectable enough to almost every type to fit in.

It wasn’t much but it at least gave him an idea of what kind of people had been manhandling him.

 

* * *

 

Back in his flat, he very carefully pealed his clothes back off, trying to preserve as much as he possibly could. It more than likely would be very little but even that was better than nothing.

For all his searching, though, he could find only a bruise on his shoulder. It wasn’t too clear but while examining himself in the bathroom mirror, he could make out the shape of fingers. Even the faint indentations of fingernails, shortened by nail clipper rather than biting, could be made out.

Interesting.

The thought of fingernails made him hold up his own hands. There might just be something there, even if he couldn’t see it, but his tools for collecting such samples were in the kitchen.

Unperturbed, he walked through the flat in just his underwear, not caring who might or might not see him.

Once the samples, sparing though they were, had been collected, he walked back to the bathroom. There he shed the last article of clothing.

He wasn’t expecting to find anything more than what he already had but he might as well take a shower. Lestrade had texted again. Going to the Yard with his hair matted like it was wasn’t an option.

As he slipped the underwear down, though, he was surprised by the amount of scent that emanated from there. He frowned as the type of scent also registered in his nostrils.

That didn’t make sense. If whoever had been playing around with his body in the time he couldn’t recall had been as thorough in their clean-up of him as they appeared to have been, why would they leave that area untouched?

He sniffed. They certainly hadn’t been…been…

The scent of himself mixed with someone else brought something with it, some tugging deep inside of him. His cock started to slowly rise in interest while his mouth watered. Most surprising, though, as it wasn’t tied purely to biology, was the sense of longing coupled with a feeling that something was missing inside of him.

He knew that scent. Knew it from…from…it was tied to the blond hair, he knew it. Other than that, though…

Before he quite knew what he was doing, he’d swiped one hand over his rising erection and brought it up to his nose while the other gripped the shaft firmly. Inhaling deeply, he was hit with that scent again and his hand began to move at a frantic pace. His back hit the wall of the bathroom while he continued to inhale what traces his nose could pick up.

A few more images, frustratingly vague, swam up through his mind, brought on by the notes in the scent. In particular blue eyes sparkling with intelligence and a wry smile.

_Omega. **My** Omega._

After that rather unexpected, possessive thought, he tried to conjure more images but none would emerge, no matter how hard he tried. That didn’t lessen his arousal, however, quite the opposite. His hand sped up, almost of its own accord, squeezing at the base and twisting every time it reached the head. His orgasm hit hard enough that he was thankful he was already supported by the wall.

As he tried to gather himself, he blinked several times, severely puzzled by the myriad of things that didn’t make sense.

Where in the seven hells had that thought come from? He didn’t have an Omega to call his own. He didn’t _want_ an Omega. What possible use could he have for an Omega? They were simpering, brainless, whiney things that needed constant attention and, judging by the ones he’d met, a lot of money. Why would he ever want such an _onus_ hanging around his neck?

There was no question that the smell he’d just masturbated to, something he hadn’t done since the period after he’d presented as a teen, came from an Omega, though. The scent notes were quite distinct, even when they were this faint.

Why on earth would he have that specific scent on him – and on such an intimate place, too? Well, that was a rather obvious question with an equally obvious answer. But it didn’t alter the fact that the answer didn’t make any sense.

Wrapping only the dressing gown that had been lying in a heap on the floor around his otherwise naked body, he left the bathroom and threw himself onto his couch. Closing his eyes, he steepled his hands under his chin in thought.

He didn’t have sex, with any primary or secondary gender. Beyond those purely physical urges brought on by his presentation – and those had been taken care of on his own – it had never interested him. Not even Omegas in Heat had been able to induce much of reaction in him.

So why now? if he hadn’t been interested, there would hardly have been much of a sexual act and therefore no scent left in his pubic hair. It was fairly obvious that he had been for there to be scent left despite the clean-up he’d clearly been subjected to. What could possibly have made him inter –

He opened his eyes as realization dawned.

Of course. Rut. He must’ve gone into Rut. That was the only explanation as to why he would’ve had sex. But what had made him go into his first-ever Rut? What could possibly have been the –

His train of thought was interrupted again but this time, it wasn’t by one of his own realizations. Instead, another scent invaded his nostrils. One that was as unwelcome as it was familiar and he was sadly not deep enough in his Mind Palace to be oblivious to it.

“Go away, Mycroft!” he shouted as a poor substitution, putting as much command and disdain into his voice as he possibly could. “Your scent stinks and your fat nose is more needed plugging leaks in your little hobby project.”

“Government business is hardly a ‘hobby project’, Sherlock,” came the equally familiar voice, annoyingly from right behind the couch. “Business you’ve agreed to help with, I might add, yet you waste time lying on parade here.”

“Being wise enough not to gorge myself at every possible opportunity doesn’t equal being a living corpse,” Sherlock shot back, glaring at his brother as he moved into view. “And I never ‘agreed’ to help. You bullied me into it.”

Mycroft merely inclined his head slightly in response to that. “I have better things to do than check up on you, Sherlock,” he said, “but when you continue to ignore me, I cannot just sit idly by.”

“I suppose I should just be grateful it wasn’t a kidnapping or another drugs bust this time, then? Go away, Mycroft, I’m _busy_.”

“Clearly,” the redhead said drily, one eyebrow raised as he looked at the prone form of his brother. “You broke into the house two days ago and you only came out yesterday. You haven’t been arrested or otherwise caused a ruckus. Whatever it was you found in there could prove vitally important. So, give it here.”

He held out a hand for it, looking every inch the older brother that he was.

Not that Sherlock took notice, right then. To be fair, he never took much notice but in this instance, he took absolutely none. Instead, his mind was on the information Mycroft had inadvertently provided him.

He did remember entering the house and finding the documents, yes, and having taken photos of them with his phone. After that…nothing substantial, which included leaving the house. What was interesting about that wasn’t so much how much later that exit happened but that his brother knew about the occurrence and its timing. That meant it had been captured on CCTV.

One way or the other, he had to get hold of that CCTV footage. It should’ve been utterly unimportant, relatively speaking, to him whether he knew more of what happened or not. Normally it would’ve been but the fact that he’d been so affected by an Omega, of all things, made him more than a little curious.

In fact, he was far beyond merely curious, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge that, least of all to himself.

There was no way Mycroft was just going to hand the footage over without any fuss, however, especially not if he learned Sherlock was _interested_ in getting it. Attempting to get it on his own could possibly happen but it was highly unlikely he’d manage it undetected. Not after the last time, at least.

That being said…he did have something to bargain with, though, didn’t he?

All this flashed past in an instant.

He looked at the outstretched hand then up at his brother. “Not gonna give it,” he said breezily, flashing a smile.

Predictably, a muscle twitched minutely under Mycroft’s eye. “I really don’t have time for your games, Sherlock. What you investigated is about to blow up in our faces. Give it to me _now_. Please.”

“The things I found are useless to you without some additional information. Information I can only gain with access to the CCTV network.”

The elder Holmes sibling narrowed his eyes in disapproval. “I’ve heard similar songs from you before and the answer is no. You are not getting access to something like that just because you want to muck about with it like another one of your little hobby experiments.”

“I never ‘muck about’ with any of my experiments and I’ll remind you how often my ‘little experiments’ have saved your little hobby.” He flashed another, deliberately over the top and false smile. “Suit yourself, though. I’m not the one who has an apparent situation.”

He turned over on his side so that his back was facing his brother, knowing the reaction he’d get from the overt gesture. in fact, he was counting on it.

It took a moment or two but, true to form, Mycroft relented. “You can have access to the footage from one camera – from that day. Nothing more.”

Sherlock allowed himself a minute smirk that would be hidden in the couch cushion. _Gotcha._ “The _entire_ area, Mycroft, and for the day before and after, or I might as well not have gotten anything at all.”

He got a put-upon, long-suffering sigh for his trouble. “ _Fine._ Have it your way,” Mycroft said, his tone flat, annoyed. “I’ll have the footage sent by this afternoon and I expect to have all your gathered information by this evening. At the very latest, Sherlock, do you understand me?”

The brunet waved a hand by way of disinterested reply. “You know where the door is. Do remember to close it on your way out.”

Something prodded him in the small of his back, most likely the tip of that stupid umbrella. He sneered instinctively but it was hidden in the cushion and he managed to refrain from otherwise visibly reacting. He wasn’t going to give his brother the satisfaction.

After another little while had passed, he heard the flat’s front door open and close. He remained in position for some time after that, though, just to make sure that Mycroft wouldn’t be coming back to deliver some sort of ‘poignant’ comment.

Once he was sure of that, he got up to open the windows. He had no desire to inhale any more of his brother’s horrible scent than he absolutely had to. Looking out as he opened it, he was annoyed to see that the very conspicuous black car still parked on the street. It began to pull away almost as soon as he saw it, though.

Right, then. judging by Mycroft’s usual response time, give or take a few minutes to be annoyed and another five to consume some sort of sickeningly sweet, overpriced pastry, he should have the footage within the next ten minutes. Fifteen if his brother was attempting to prove a point again.

He used that time to get dressed, as the wind from outside wasn’t pleasant on his mostly nude body and he wasn’t about to close the windows before the stench was gone, and to try and find the rest of what he’d unearthed about the case. Not that the papers were extensive in comparison to what he’d kept in the foyer of his Mind Palace, ready to be deleted once the case was done, but…Mycroft hadn’t asked for that information.

Settling down onto the couch and opening the computer, he ignored the buzzing of his phone. Whoever it was could wait. Unimportant.

The files he’d requested had been sent to his email account already. That gave an idea of just how desperate his brother was to have the matter sorted out quickly. Not that that was Sherlock’s priority, at all. If Mycroft couldn’t handle such a thing on his own, he was far less competent than the brunet would reluctantly have to give him credit for.

Opening the video feed from the camera that overlooked the front of the building, several more images slowly began to emerge from his still very patchy as he looked the footage over. Among them were not just more or less relevant details about the house related to the case itself but also a room filled to the brim with people in various states of dress and undress.

_Almost all of them were Omegas of a fertile age. You know why they were there. Even if you went back, you would have no way of finding the man you’re searching for._

There was the scent. That particular scent he would be able to recognize anywhere, he was prepared to bet on it. it should be enough to locate the man through that, if he could find a way to get back into the building without being detected this time.

_That still depends on the presumption that he’s still there and given that you know how a lot of them are used, it’s far from unreasonable to assume that he’s been passed on to someone else._

He paused the footage that he wasn’t really seeing in any case, his brow furrowing in frustration over the details that he was still unable to recall. If he had _something_ beyond that scent and blue eyes, which were hardly enough to go on in _London_ , that would at least help a little.

To what end, though? Given the opportunity to see him again, if he was still there and could be found, what was he going to do? Declare that he couldn’t get him out of his head and persuade him to bond with the Alpha? Say that the Omega was the only one to ever send him into Rut, even counting his teenage years, so it was obvious that they were meant to be? He snorted to himself in abhorrence over the romantic cliché.

Even if, against all logic, the Omega agreed to come with him, what then? His way of life as well as his general personality was hardly conducive to having to look after an Omega, never mind any possible fruit of the union, as his grandmother had often called it. To bond with someone would land him in a situation that would be very unlikely to end in anything but a terrible situation.

That was just beyond preposterous; that one single scent still had him that affected outside of what had to, admittedly, be some Rut, that he would consider bonding in the first place. It wasn’t even just a purely Alpha-instinct based thing caused by pheromones, either, as he hadn’t been affected by any of the other Omegas clogging up the room with their miasma of scents. It went deeper than that and that was scaring him.

The only sensible thing was to finish the case for Mycroft with the barest minimum of fuss and then put the whole ordeal behind him, deleting the entire mess. He didn’t need an Omega and he didn’t want one. End of discussion.

With that mindset, he pressed play on the footage. As he searched it, he tried to tell himself he did so to see what kind of activity happened that the owners weren’t keen on anyone knowing about. It certainly had nothing to do with seeing whether the man had been present when Sherlock had been ‘escorted’ from the building. Not in any way.

He looked through all of it, from every camera and the entire period that Mycroft had let him get at, keeping his mind firmly at the task at hand, even though he didn’t need to. He noted that there were several instances where people came in through the back entrance on their own, looking purposefully, excessively nonchalant and relaxed in their designed-to-not-attract attention outfits. It would be funny if it wasn’t so incompetent.

Far more interesting were the groups of people who came and went. Some of them went in through the front and exited through that door as well. These held their heads high and walked in a way that clearly marked them out as Alphas or, if they hadn’t quite mastered being the cock of the walk, Betas pretending to be Alphas.

Others went through the more discreet entrances that he couldn’t see but knew of from his look at the building’s layout. In these groups there were one or more smaller individuals, all of which looked young and either insecure or overwhelmed as they were, with varying degrees of force, led into or out of the building.

_Omegas. Omegas being shepherded to and from new…owners._

He ignored the fact that despite the relatively poor quality of the footage, as well as the knowledge that he had basically no concrete physical details to look for, he was searching for any sign of his Omega. He found nothing, which was to be expected, but his instincts screamed inside of him and his heart clenched at the thought.

Whereas the Alphas coming and going were the same, more or less, the Omegas didn’t match up at all. Moreover, some of them could just about be made out to be pregnant. Not so much from a look at their bodies, again due to the quality of the footage and distance of the camera, but from the way they moved. If they weren’t waddling in some way, they were hunched over in a very tell-tale, protective way.

It wasn’t that difficult to work out what was happening, especially not when the information was taken in conjunction with what he’d found in their archives. The ledgers themselves were dull and meticulous in their documentation of transactions. All of them seemed legitimate and lawful, with apparently no link whatsoever to the buying and selling of Omegas, their Heats and their offspring.

Yet, those slightly tilted letters held a code that marked out which transactions were instead to do with those transactions. It was even possible to discern which of the three it concerned from the amount it was tilted and which way.

Honestly, couldn’t people be at least a little inventive when they made such ciphers? It was hardly worth his time when they insisted on being so unimaginative and predictable.

Then he noticed something else. There were prices in the ledgers that not only had a notable tilt but were of the same amount even if they were for different goods. Furthermore, they often matched in pairs, going in and coming out, though none had the exact same time between the two entries.

Again, it was hardly difficult to work out what that meant but with that realization a thought crept into his mind, one which he in no way liked.

None of the Omegas who came in stayed for too long. Most were either, he saw as he searched through the columns, sold off themselves relatively quickly or if not them, their Heats and offspring were.

Would his Omega be among those? Had he only just managed to find him before he was snatched away by some macho, undeserving Alpha that wouldn’t treat him at all like he should be? Would he come back only to find a lingering trace of scent and nothing else?

Going back…

Well, he had managed to sneak in there once, where he was only caught because he unexpectedly went into Rut. Surely, he could do that again. But when he had nothing else to go on but a scent, the same scent which had sent him into Rut in the first place, how would he do it? And that was not counting the likely heightened security and, more genuinely a problem due to far greater competence, Mycroft’s no doubt even closer monitoring of him, at least until he’d solved this case.

On the other hand, the thought of his Omega being sold off and mated to someone that wasn’t Sherlock was…horrible. It was laughable and pathetic, especially considering how little time had passed since they’d met and how little he could recall of the man, but his instincts didn’t care. They knew perfectly well what they’d found, didn’t care what the brain had to say about the matter and didn’t like the separation at all.

Adding to that, he felt a distinct clench inside of him of blue eyes smiling at someone else. He put it down to his instincts messing around.

“This is utterly ridiculous,” he said out loud, as though that would somehow better convince himself. “I don’t need an Omega. I don’t _want_ any weak, insecure, dependant Omega to cling to me.”

But his Omega hadn’t clung to him at all, had he? Had he?

Sherlock growled in frustration. If only he could bloody well remember! If he just had _something,_ anything concrete about the appearance or the personality rather than just the vague, useless implications left by his instincts. With that, he could make some sort of assessment on the man. Hopefully dismiss him as nothing more than a guy with an admittedly intoxicating scent but otherwise boringly ordinary and then move on with his life. On his own. Without unwanted distractions.

But to do that, he would have to confront the Omega, wherever he might be. That would mean contacting Mycroft to get in without –

That particular train of thought halted abruptly when he looked back at the computer screen. He’d almost reached the end of the footage from the back of the building and a few people were coming out of it. What had captured his attention was the figure halfway carried, halfway dragged between two other figures.

Interestingly, the figures on either side were considerably shorter than the person they carried between them. Moreover, he could very easily recognize that person. He looked in a mirror regularly, after all.

Looking closer, he tried to see whether there was anything about what had to be two Omegas, judging by their height and stature, that would somehow spark some sort of recognition. Normally, such a thing would’ve been a cinch for him. While he tried hard and did make out a few things, there was nothing about either that sparked definitive recognition.

What the hell kind of drugs had he been injected with? They were most certainly potent if they’d managed to muddle up his memory that badly. Would they be designed to work with the chemicals his body had produced during his Rut? That would be the most efficient and effective, certainly, and it would be difficult to work out for a person to separate what was Rut and what was drugs. A normal person, at least.

He put a mental pin in the thought of following that particular trail. It could wait. Right now, as he watched the two struggle with him and then disappear around the corner, he couldn’t help a small smile. They were heading in the direction of the hotel he’d woken up in.

Of course, it didn’t follow that they’d taken him all the way there. Even if they’d been able to carry him the entire way, they would’ve had to check him into the hotel. Moreover, they’d have to do it quickly enough that their absence wouldn’t be noticed. An establishment like that wouldn’t take kindly to its merchandise wandering off on its own like that.

He would find all of that out soon enough, though, when he went back to the hotel and asked a few questions.

Almost shooting up into a standing position born of newfound enthusiasm, he strode over to the chair he’d thrown his coat onto.

He stopped before he left the flat, though. If Mycroft didn’t get his files very soon, he’d only continue to pester and nag until he did, possibly interrupting Sherlock in the middle of something important. He might even show up in person to poke his big, fat nose into it, with the distinct risk that he’d prevent Sherlock from getting anywhere near anything remotely important to the younger Holmes.

He always had been resentful of what Sherlock had, hadn’t he?

So, he paused to send the photos to his brother’s assistant, then pocketed his phone.

As he swept out of the door, down the stairs and out the front door, completely ignoring his very kind landlady shouting after him, his spirits were high. This had turned from dull government work to something far more interesting.

He also seemed to ignore the way his heart lifted at the thought that he would, everything willing, relatively soon meet his Omega again. Either that or he was telling himself it was because of the thrill of the chase and nothing else.

“John? John?”

He gave a distracted hum in reply. Then he blinked once, twice and managed to refocus completely on the here and now, where someone was standing in front of where he sat and calling his name.

“What?” he said, snapping back to reality sharply.

“John, wake up. I need to talk to you.”

“Right. Right. Sorry about that. My mind was…” as he said it, an image of sweat-damp dark curls, plush lips and pale eyes almost swallowed by their pupils flashed by in his head, “…elsewhere. What were you saying?”

“I said I need to talk to you. Can you spare me a moment?” It was clear from her tone of voice that she was more nervous than she wanted to let on. She was also trying not to fiddle with her hair, a sure sign that she was uncomfortable and nervous.

The woman asking was more of a girl than a woman. Only 19, she was so petite that most people were afraid to hug her in case she snapped clean in two from it. Despite that, she was one of the most visually stunning of the Omegas that had arrived recently.

In fact, John had the distinct and not entirely pleasant feeling that it wouldn’t be long before she was snapped up by some Alpha or other who had their head turned by her looks and luscious scent and was willing to pay whatever price asked for her.

Knowing that and what kind of life she’d likely be thrown into, he couldn’t always work out whether he was glad or sad that he could be sure no Alpha would ever do that for him. He’d been so close with no cigar too often to believe that it wouldn’t happen to him, ever.

It could turn out very great or very horrible, he knew, and he ought to take comfort in his security here. He did, in some way, but that didn’t quite stop the smidgeons of jealousy and resentment that mixed in with the genuine worry and care he felt for any of his charges.

“Of course, Ruby,” he said, giving her as big a smile as he could muster. “Do you want to do it here or perhaps you’d rather go somewhere a little more…private?”

She nodded vigorously at that then blushed at her behaviour. “Somewhere else, please?”

“Sure.”

With that, he got to his feet and began to lead the way into one of the smaller rooms off the enormous main area, making sure to pick one that was only ever used for storage. She didn’t need to have any lingering traces of pheromones or intercourse clogging up her nostrils to make her even more jumpy than she already was.

The trouble with it being a storage room was that it had no places for them to sit. Before he could assess what would work for them to sit on, Ruby had settled herself down on the floor, sitting with her legs crossed.

John folded his arms over his chest and lifted an eyebrow. “That’s not fair on an old man, you know. I’m not that flexible anymore,” he said.

He had another memory of just how flexible he actually still was but dismissed it from his mind, or at least try to. This wasn’t the time and place for it and in any case, he ought to put the whole thing, and especially the gorgeous man, out of his mind for good. He wasn’t supposed to leave the building on his own and the Alpha weren’t meant to be there in the first place so the likelihood of seeing him again was…remote, to say the least.

“Come on, you’re not that old,” Ruby said with a smile, patting the floor beside her. “You can’t be.”

“I might be a lot older than you think.” He was certainly too old to still be stuck in a place like this, taking care of young Omegas instead of a family of his own.

“No, you’re not,” she said with the confidence that only the young could muster.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked her, trying to shift her focus.

“Oh. Right. Yes.” She paused, her nerves clearly returning as she thought of it. “I…it’s, ehm…” she trailed off.

“It’s alright, Ruby, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said after a long time had passed where she’d been wobbling between speaking and keeping quiet, kneeling in front of her, his voice soothing.

“But I do want to!” she cried, sounding sincere but worried. She grabbed onto his hand and squeezed it. Her hand was trembling. “I need to tell someone about it and I don’t know who else to ask but I…it’s still…” she paused again, squeezing her eyes shut briefly.

“I – I’m afraid of my next Heat!” she finally blurted out, sounding as though the words were vomited out and yet got stuck in her throat. “It’s going to come soon, I know it. But they expect me to have an Alpha for it and I’m…I’m not…I can’t do it.”

Tears started to trickle down her cheeks. “I never told anyone but…I didn’t present until I was past 18 because I’ve always been too thin and it…it was so horrible, John. It hurt so bad, I had no idea what to do because I thought I was a Beta, not an Omega, and I just wanted it to stop. But it didn’t, it just kept getting worse and worse and then one of my friends f-found me.” She was sobbing in earnest now and had nestled into him as best she could. “S-she never told me she was an Alpha…and she…she…” She stopped speaking as the tears became sobs.

John didn’t need to hear anymore, in any case. He could guess the rest.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, letting her get as much of it out of her system as she could. She kept trying to say more but it drowned in another hiccupping sob.

Once she had at last run out of tears, he had a shirt soaked with tears and stained with snot, but it didn’t matter. Her need was more important than his for a clean shirt and besides, it wasn’t as though he was going anywhere to impress anyone, was it?

She leaned back, trying for a sheepish, apologetic smile. It wobbled and didn’t form more than brief, curved line.

“You’ll have to tell them, won’t you?” she sniffed.

“I have got to tell them something,” he agreed. “But if you don’t me to say what’s actually wrong, which is fine and understandable, I can tell them that your Heat isn’t progressing well, and you need to be regulated with suppressants. That they tend understand much more easily.” He smiled and squeezed her shoulder in a reassuring manner. “Then we can try and see if we can’t get you past that. Not that you need to have an Alpha, mind you, but no one should have to suffer in their Heats like that.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a heartfelt though relatively brief kiss. “Thank you so very much, John. Everyone’s always telling me how great you are but – “

“Don’t mention it,” he said quickly, interrupting her quite intentionally. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her sweetness, he honestly did. It just…

She got to her feet quickly and nimbly then helped him up, too. “But are you sure they won’t get mad that I’ll have to take suppressants?” she asked, sounding nervous.

“Dead sure,” he assured her, giving a reassuring smile.

That the Omegas living here could get suppressants if they needed them was one thing he had made sure of shortly after he’d been hired, when…anyway, he’d had to fight tooth and nail because some of the Alphas hadn’t been keen on the Omegas having a say in their Heats.

He followed her all the way back to the room she shared with another girl, a curvy bombshell just a few years older than Ruby who already had an urge to mother everyone she came into contact with. She’d help Ruby get through it, once he’d had a quiet word with her to explain the situation.

On the way, they passed one guy giving another a backrub to soothe the curve his spine had been forced into by the weight attached to his front.

“What’s it like being pregnant?” Ruby asked suddenly then covered her hand with her mouth when she realized what she’d said. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have – I didn’t think. I never think. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s…fine. It’s fine,” he said. He forced a smile.

She didn’t look at all convinced and stopped walking, so she could hug him. He returned the hug, albeit a little stiffly.

“Please don’t be angry. Please. You’re always helping me, even when you don’t have to, and I repay you by being an unthinking goose.”

He smiled again, though this time it was more of a genuine smile. “It’s fine. Really. Just…”

“Keep my big mouth shut when it’s personal things that are none of my business?” she finished for him. At that, he couldn’t quite help the snort of amusement.

“Something like that. Now off you go. I’ll go get the prescription for your suppressants.”

For that, he got another kiss and a ‘thank you’ before she hurried off the rest of the way.

He sighed heavily. Then he turned and walked in the direction of the stairs. Might as well get the whole hassle over with as soon as possible.

In itself, it wasn’t a difficult task to write out a prescription for the suppressants; he was still registered as a doctor, even if it had been years since he’d worked as a regular one, and a few pharmacies didn’t take too much notice of a prescription slip as long as the right letters were on it. What made things difficult for him was getting the funds to pay for the suppressants.

For a place that made far too much money out of other people’s desperation and hope, they were incredibly stingy when it came to actually caring for their…assets, was the polite word for it. Everything spent on the Omegas that wouldn’t earn the money back and then some was regarded as wasteful, and so he had to fight for every single item.

He’d do it, though. No matter what it took to get his charges what they needed, he’d make sure they got it. That was the least he could do, to try and make up for…

His hands balled up into fists to the point that his blunt fingernails made indents in his flesh.

Damn Ruby for bringing it up again. She meant well, he knew, but he had no desire to think of being pregnant. Not again, after the last time…

 _No, enough!_ He shouted inside his mind. He’d stopped on his way down. _I don’t want to think about it._

 _But you’ve to think about it, though, don’t you?_ another part of his mind quipped. _Since you didn’t use a condom when that nice Alpha went into Rut._

“I’m getting too old,” he argued back under his breath. Even as he said it, though, he knew it was a lie.

What then, though? If he was…could he cope with losing another one? He wasn’t sure he could, not after…and it felt inevitable that that would be the outcome if he stayed here. On the other hand, he couldn’t leave his charges here on their own, either. He’d promised to take care of them.

He cursed a blue streak as he continued walking. However, he did it under his breath so as not to offend anyone who might be watching or listening. A lot of Alphas and even some Betas didn’t take kindly to Omegas behaving ‘coarsely’, especially not in an environment like this.

John didn’t fit into the normal Omega mould in the first place in any case, in more ways than one, he didn’t get quite as much flack for it as others. His status within the establishment also helped quite a bit, of course. But even then, there might be someone who’d decide to take offense and, more importantly, attempt to teach him a lesson.

He smiled grimly. Well, they could _try._

 

* * *

 

Sherlock walked briskly through the street, his coat billowing behind him. He’d taken a cab some of the way but, due to heavy traffic, had decided to get out and cover the remaining distance on foot. Well, that and he’d stopped by to pick up a little something.

People got out of the way almost automatically; even if they couldn’t smell his scent, his build and in particular his demeanour gave him away as an Alpha, and one of higher class, too, easily enough. It had its uses, sometimes, much as he didn’t care for adhering to the rest of the behaviour expected of his secondary gender.

If he’d timed it right, Mycroft would be too busy with the information he’d sent and his consequent attempt to keep the situation under control. It wouldn’t leave him the time or, more importantly, presence of mind to keep an eye on where Sherlock was right then. Something which he otherwise spent an annoyingly large amount of resources on.

Mycroft claimed it was to look out for him, make sure that he didn’t get into trouble. Sherlock knew it was all because he had a desire to keep tabs on and, if he could, control all the people around him, especially his baby brother. Sometimes, he even wondered whether his brother resented the fact that the brunet hadn’t presented as an Omega or even a Beta instead. Both were so much easier to intimidate and control, after all.

_Not like you’re completely blameless in that regard either, though, is it?_

He ignored the thought and increased his pace. His timing would also make sure of a few other things.

He knew from the time stamp when he’d been dragged out of the building. Comparing it to the time he’d woken up in the hotel, he could calculate the approximate time the Omegas had taken to cover the distance either in a car or on foot. To be out cold for the duration of that and a good time afterwards, he could then calculate how strong the drugs had to be.

With those pieces of knowledge, he could not only find a lead in who had access either to a finished drug like that or the ingredients for it, later, but also know when he would have arrived at the hotel.

That meant he could be sure the same receptionist would be at the desk – she was on her own, with a baby she could only provide for by working as many shifts as possible but leaving her with her teenage brother made her nervous enough to scratch continuously at her nail polish with her other nail – to ask and know what part of their security camera footage to sweettalk her into showing him.

He reached the hotel and swept right on inside. Quickly scanning the hotel lobby for anyone familiar, both welcome and not so welcome, and finding none, he went up to the front desk, taking a deep breath that he let out slowly as he got into ‘character’.

“Hello,” he said, giving her a disarmingly apologetic smile as he leaned over the counter. “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you when you’re obviously busy,” – _busy trying to get the father of your child to text you back – “_ but I was wondering if you could possibly help me? I had – “

“Oh, I remember you!” she interrupted him, her fixed smile turning genuine. “Are you alright? You looked a bit under the weather when you went out earlier. Even worse when you came in yesterday, really.”

He let that remark pass without comment; it wouldn’t fit with the persona he was presenting. “Yes, quite alright now, thank you for noticing and your kind concern.

He leaned forward a little more, increasing the smile. “See, the thing is, I was at this stag-do when it happened,” – he let it be up to her imagination to fill in the blanks – “and a few of the others were kind enough to book me into the nearest hotel and carry me here. Problem is, I don’t know which two it was. and I don’t have their numbers.”

“Oh, not to worry. They paid in advance, sir,” she said quickly, as though that would reassure him. She flashed another smile. The small amount of pheromone-mixed scent he was naturally exuding seemed to work rather well on her, then.

“Did they?” he asked, carefully pitching his voice to quiet but delighted surprise. “Oh, that’s a relief to know. Thank you very much.”

He then deliberately paused and grabbed at the back of his head in a sheepish, embarrassed fashion. “That’s not…not quite all, though. You see, I think I might have been a little…well, I had this in my hand when I woke up.”

He held out his hand to show the something he’d bought on the way; a bracelet designed to look far more expensive and valuable than it actually was, the gemstones and silver about as real as his smile.

She seemed to accept that it had to be valuable; her eyes widened slightly at the sight of it and her eyes flickered up to his face then down to the jewellery.

He wondered whether she’d attempt to relieve him of it but dismissed the thought almost as soon as it had appeared.

“Oh!” she exclaimed as she put two and two together out of only one part. “You want to give it back but can’t remember which one it belonged to?”

“Yeah…well, I think I know whose it is, but I might be mixing her up with one of the others. There were quite a lot of people and I…I…”

He faltered and bit his lip in embarrassment.

Of all things, she reached out, not to take the bracelet, but to put her small – nail polish almost gone, nails bitten, has only just heard back from her brother after too long – hand over his in a comforting gesture.

“That’s so very sweet of you.”

He smiled at her in a shy manner. “Least I can do. But as I can remember very little clearly from yesterday evening, I need some other way to find out who it was. If I could just see their faces, then I’m certain it’d be enough for me to remember. But to do that…” he trailed off.

His gaze slid, seemingly innocently, towards the screens in front of her then to the cameras. They were placed so one faced the entrance, one covered the general entrance area while a third was trained on the stairs and elevator going up to the rooms.

She followed his gaze.

“Oh,” she said as she grasped what he was getting at. “Oh. I’m not allowed to show the camera footage to anyone who’s not an employee. They’re very strict about that.”

_Yes, they would be. Especially since they also use your age, your looks and your status as a Beta as both a selling point and a way to demean you and make sure you don’t seek better employment elsewhere._

“I realize that and again, I am ever so sorry to put you through it, but you…well, you see my dilemma, don’t you?” he said then went for another short pause to lick his lips. “I wouldn’t want to push you into anything, though, that wouldn’t be right. Especially not if it risks getting you reprimanded or fired. I’ll…I’ll find some other way around it. Don’t worry about it.”

With that and another uncertain, apologetic smile, he turned around and began to walk away.

He didn’t get more than a few strides before she called to him.

“Wait!” He didn’t. “Sir, please hold on.”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. She had gotten up halfway from her seat as though that would somehow make it easier to stop him without actually getting out from behind the front desk. More likely, it was so that she couldn’t be seen to move suspiciously by the camera covering her.

It was her turn to bite her lip, looking torn. She then glanced around the room quickly, seemingly to make sure that the room was indeed empty.

It was. He honestly couldn’t see that this sort of hotel would get a lot of daytime visitors, as it were. It was upmarket for such an establishment, granted, but that hardly made it respectable.

She nodded, probably to herself more than anything, then made a quick get-over-here gesture with her hand.

He did so, at the same pace he’d walked at to start with to soothe her obvious nerves. The less suspicious she thought they looked, the more likely she was to cooperate.

“Just to see whether you can recognize the girl the bracelet belongs to, yes?” she asked, her nervousness slightly bleeding into her voice, and he nodded.

“Just that, yes,” he said.

He hadn’t asked for the information they’d delivered when they’d booked the hotel. Even if he could get her to overcome her nervousness that much, it was highly unlikely that they would’ve used their own names. They might even have used his name and his credit card. He hadn’t checked up on that before he left his flat. Something to rectify when he got back.

In the meantime, he’d memorize the faces of the people who’d brought him. The footage would be significantly clearer than the one gotten from the CCTV cameras and the angle of the camera meant a better, closer look at them.

A tiny part of him still hoped that the better image would mean he could see something that he’d recognize. Only for something to identify him with later so he could put him out of his mind completely, though. Obviously.

She hesitated for a moment longer then started typing on the computer. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for and neither should it, seeing as it was such a recent recording. The screen that showed the current feed from the cameras went to text for a moment then showed the footage from that day.

He leaned forward in a way that allowed him to see while making it look as though he was merely being interested in what she said.

“See, there you are!” she said, nodding in the direction of the screen in lieu of the more easily detectable pointing with her finger. “Oh, dear, you do look dreadful. No offense meant.”

“None taken,” he reassured her, not taking his eyes of the screen. “After all, it’s true.”

Truth be told, he was hardly looking at himself on the screen. It wasn’t relevant to him, after all. Instead, his focus was on the two supporting him.

They were indeed the Omegas who’d taken him from the building but though one of them was blond, it wasn’t his blond. It was male, too, and the eyes could be right but despite that, and the fact that he could remember almost jack-all about him otherwise, he was absolutely dead certain that it wasn’t his Omega.

The part of his mind not occupied with finding his special Omega focused on the faces, which were thankfully clear and distinct. He mentally noted down their traits for later identification when he went back to the house. If he could find them, he could pressure them with the footage he already had of them leaving the building with a seemingly unconscious body carried between them. One of an Alpha, too.

Not that it was likely to stand up in court, as the footage wasn’t too great in terms of making out details and he wasn’t supposed to have access to the CCTV cameras. But they didn’t know that and, since they were Omegas, they were more likely to be swayed by an Alpha in those circumstances.

“Do you recognize them?” the receptionist asked, sounding excited and worried at the same time.

“Yes,” he said, and it was only partly a lie. “Yes, that’s the one who had it. Right there. I remember her,” he faltered for only a second to find something about her face that stood out, “her striking eyes. They go with the bracelet.”

Always give people something other to focus on than your fibs and, if possible, put it at the end of your sentence. That way, the distraction was what people would remember instead.

“They are rather striking,” she agreed, and she sounded oddly genuine in her compliment.

Not that women couldn’t complement each other or that they didn’t, of course. But it was still not too common for a Beta, who was generally seen as lesser in terms of importance and in particular looks, to acknowledge good points of a coveted Omega. It was…unexpected, at the very least.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , a voice inside his mind groused. _Get on with it. You have the information you need. There’s no reason to stay here any longer. Get rid of her and get back to that house._

“Indeed.” He flashed another smile as he began to pull away. “Thank you for your kindness, it’s been so very helpful I can’t begin to tell you.”

“What’s her name?” she asked out of the blue, halting him.

Her name? Who cared about her name? It surely couldn’t matter to this girl what the name of a complete stranger she’d never meet again was.

She looked at him with an innocently expectant expression.

“Rachel,” he said, grabbing the first name that thankfully sprang to mind.

“That’s a nice name. Suits her.” She paused then smile. “Well, sir, I hope you find your Rachel very soon.”

That turn of phrase made something inside him twist. _Not ‘my Rachel’ – my Omega has a far better name._

 “Thank you very much and thank you for being kind enough to help me out when I’m such an idiot. I hope it won’t get you into trouble.”

“I don’t think so.” Even as she said it, it didn’t seem like she truly believed it. “They hardly ever take notice of anything so far down the ladder.”

“Well, thank you. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled again, noting vaguely that her eyes had dilated somewhat in the time he’d spoken to her. His scent shouldn’t have too much effect on a Beta, at least in comparison to an Omega, but it seemed that it was pungent enough to affect her.

Had it always been that powerful? Had he affected Betas without him being aware of it? It was possible, of course, but given how much notice he usually took of his surroundings, it was highly unlikely that he wouldn’t have picked up on something before now, if that was the case.

He gave a brief wave as he turned and walked back out the entrance, hands in his pocket as he continued thinking, his donned persona dropping away instantly.

If it hadn’t always been that effective, what had changed? Why was it suddenly significantly stronger?

A half-remembered teaching tried to wave a flag in his mind, but he ignored it.

He also ignored the urge to go back. He would solve nothing by barging in there again, especially not when they were likely on high alert from his last visit, and beyond that, he refused to be a slave to his…instincts like that. All in due time.

For now, he’d employ his time far better and find out more about the people owning the building, to see where their pressure points would be. The more ammunition he had, the better.

_What for, though? What purpose does this serve, exactly? You’ve already solved whatever part of it was important to Mycroft and you’ve never shown any interest in Omegas, so why?_

He didn’t want an Omega and he certainly didn’t need one, no matter what his idiotic body and instincts claimed. Yet he’d gone to all that effort.

No more.

He went home and, feeling spiteful towards _himself,_ decided to spend the evening torturing his violin instead of doing research or anything remotely related to his – no, not his, never his – to _that_ Omega.

 

* * *

 

 

“John.”

There was no answer.

“John, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

The blond still ignored the person behind him as he continued punching a makeshift sandbag amidst moving boxes. He needed to let off pent-up emotions. Normally he didn’t allow himself that kind of outlet but with how he felt right then…it wouldn't be good to come face to face with the owners, he could say that.

“Please,” the person said, in no way deterred. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m just…letting off some…steam,” John said harshly between gritted teeth, still punching. “So that I'm...ready to move out...nice and quiet like they want us...to. They should…be able to appreciate…that.”

“You’ve been here ever since...we need to go soon and...” There was a pause and a swallow. "John...you're bleeding." 

He meant well, John knew. He didn’t care.

The alternative to punching the sandbag until his vision blurred and his knuckles bled was punching something far more giving than sand. That or go find the illegal souvenir he’d brought back from the war.

She wasn’t supposed to lose that much blood. Everything had gone so well, the boy was healthy, he was her fourth and the other three had presented no problems, either. It should’ve been a doddle. Except…

“You couldn’t have done more. Not with what we have here. Not in these conditions. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Then whose fault _is it_?” John roared, finally stopping to face the man. “Hers? All of you? The people who own this place? The police who can’t work out this is still happening?”

“John – “ The poor Beta, who John had known since his arrival, took a hesitant step forward.

“I’m supposed to look after you all!” John shouted. “That’s my job. That’s all I’m fucking good for anymore. If I can’t do that, what good am I?” He choked on the last word.

He appreciated the hug he got. Though he kept the tears at bay, he felt unstable.

His pain was only intensified by the knowledge that once again, the concern for themselves outweighed concern for their assets. It wasn’t the first time they’d been moved to avoid detection, but even with the rush to move out, they could’ve waited…could’ve let her deliver before…

Despite his best efforts, tears started to fall.

 

* * *

 

It was late the next day when Sherlock arrived at Dean Street. He’d been procrastinating to prove a point to himself, that he wasn’t subservient to his instincts.

That point was dearly bought when he arrived to find the house vacated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger? Me? What a twist.  
> I really, really hope I haven't crashed and burned on this one because I've tried my best.  
> I wanted to write about both of them, both to give different perspectives on the story and not leave John out for long chunks of it.  
> You might have noticed that it no longer says three chapters in all. That's because...well, my usual problem. Things have escalated a bit in scope or at least takes longer. I hope five will be enough.


	3. Where to next, then?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More shaken than he'd care to admit by what he finds, Sherlock throws himself into the house to look for any clues at all, his thoughts churning. They aren't helped when Mycroft shows up with his people and seem to know more of what's going on than his brother does.  
> Meanwhile, John and the rest of the Omegas are being moved and John deals with an array of worries as well as reassuring his charges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy December, everyone, whatever you do or don't celebrate :)
> 
> Wow...you guys blew my worry that after the smut was done with, people wouldn't read. Thank you! <3
> 
> As someone asked for it, I've added the character initials after cuts to help indicate when there's a change in perspective. Hope it helps and isn't annoying to read :)

To be fair, it was only when you knew what to look for and got right up close that you could see that something was significantly off in comparison to before. At first glance, however, it didn’t look any different from when he’d first snuck in, which made a lot of sense.

After all, it was in the interest of the owners to make it appear as unobtrusive and generally uninteresting as they possibly could. If they wouldn’t want to broadcast their activities when they were there, they most certainly wouldn’t want to advertise that they had moved out in such haste, whether they had moved under their own steam or been helped along, as it were.

In a strange way, one would have to admire the skill that it took to accomplish such an efficient and apparently thorough clearing out in such a short amount of time. That kind of skill wasn’t one you just had on your first attempt, though, which meant that they’d done it before.

He would have to admit that he blinked in slight incomprehension at what he was seeing. Surely, Mycroft wouldn’t have been this heavy-handed with such an important and, to him, delicate situation? Especially not at this point in time, when he was still gathering evidence.

Mycroft did always like to have his prey utterly cornered before he struck, so that he could revel, though subtly, in their defeat and their slow realisation that there was nowhere left to run. For an Alpha, he displayed very few of the traits normally associated with the gender, apart from that odd evolutionary hangover of predator mentality.  It was…humanising, for lack of a better word, and something that Sherlock enjoyed making jabs about, mostly because they always managed to get a rise of out his brother.

He moved closer, looking as casual as possible while keeping an eye on the CCTV cameras. There was something of an urge to put up the two-fingered to one of them, but he would rather not attract the attention of Mycroft before he had a chance to get in there and rummage, so he kept his hands in his pockets.

Good thing he’d thought to wear a different coat, if only because blending in was so much easier. He would never admit to loving his Belstaff, but being without it felt off and it was mostly the thought of not being recognized by the elder Holmes that had made him put it on.

When he reached the back door, he found that it was closed and locked but not with all the bolts it should be, suggesting that the hurry had possibly been a little too quick after all. He gained access quickly and easily.

So, it didn’t make sense for his brother to have done it or at least ordered others to carry it out for him. Why would the owners do it themselves, though? Surely it wasn’t because they were worried they’d been found out? Even though they engaged in illegal trafficking and other activities, which were bound to make you more suspicious and careful if nothing else, they surely wouldn’t go to such extreme measures just because he had managed to get inside?

After all, they couldn’t have any way of knowing that he was anything other than a regular Alpha that had caught a whiff of a scent and dropped into Rut. When they obviously had measures to ensure that even he couldn’t remember what had happened, not counting what those drugs would do to a normal person, what did they have to be frightened of?

That wasn’t even that far off, either, was it? He _had_ caught a scent that had been enough to send him into Rut. The only difference was that it wasn’t just _any_ Omega’s scent that had managed to send him into Rut, but he could admit that that was a small, rather shaky difference.

As he went further into the building, he noted more and more clear signs that people had been moved out quickly; among other things, there were things, though they were few, that had been left out and left behind, even things that were clearly treasured. Rummaging through them for clues, he half-wondered why he was bothering with this.

Why he hadn’t just turned back around and gone home? The ‘case’, such as it were, had been solved. This was purely Mycroft’s problem now. There wasn’t going to be anyone to interrogate, no way for him to locate the Omegas that had carried him to interrogate them. He wouldn’t be able to see the Omega again, to put a face to a scent and get him definitively out of his head.

He had to stop briefly on the stairs going from ground level to the first floor. Not because he was winded or anything like that. It had more to do with his heart giving a sudden and rather painful lurch that left him disorientated enough to stop.

His Omega wouldn’t be there. Why would he when everything, every _one_ else, had been moved out? Nothing had suggested he was above or below the rest of the group of Omegas and Betas in there so if they had all been moved out, why shouldn’t he be among them?

On the other hand, nothing had suggested the opposite, either. Nothing indicated anything, really.

Once again, he cursed the fact that he couldn’t remember anything more concrete about him than the smell that seemed to have been fused into his nostrils and his brain. He couldn’t conjure an image of the man, either physically or character-wise and while alluring in a certain sense, it was mostly just infuriating.

His heart gave another lurch and then squeezed unpleasantly. He’d missed him. The one Omega who’d managed to pique his interest and he had let someone take him away from him merely because he’d been far too stubborn and unwilling to accept what had been so obvious.

No. No, that couldn’t be true. He had to believe that. There’d be clues. With the haste that they’d vacated the building, there would be traces, things left behind. Evidence that would give him a clearer image of just who his Omega were. Perhaps, hopefully, that would also provide concrete indications, however small, of where they’d gone.

Buoyed by that thought, that _hope,_ while pushing aside the very unwelcome feelings of guilt and loss very firmly, he moved further into the building, looking all around him.

He used all his senses to look but in particular his olfactory ones, which were rather well developed and fine-tuned, which was surprising when you took into account what he had done to his body in his younger years.

Despite the extreme importance that smells and scents played in society, in so many varied aspects and from a very young age, it was hardly everyone whose olfactory abilities were very well developed. Quite the opposite. In fact, it had come to the point that a small but sensitive nose had become a desirable trait in females and Omegas.

To Sherlock, it had always been more a case of using those skills in his work rather than to gain any advantages in society. If it hadn’t been for his work, in fact, he would’ve genuinely considered finding a way of blunting his scenting abilities.

Right now, though, he was extremely grateful for it. It enabled him to find the scent he was looking for, mixed up though it was with the rather great amount of other scents. There were only a few Alphas that had stayed long enough to leave scent trails, the deep, musky notes of them unmistakable, but the Omegas who had stayed for whatever reason were far greater in number and thereby created a greater combined scent. You could make out the individual scents if you made the effort, but it was much like a many-headed hydra in that regard.

Despite that miasma, much like the first time he’d broken in here, Sherlock could pick up the scent of his Omega relatively easily. Interestingly, he could detect it in places, and quite clearly at that, where almost no other Omega scent could be found, such as the kitchen, basement and some of the offices scattered around the building.

What did that say about the man? Certainly it said that he was more than just a pampered little thing that was squeamish about…no, that wasn’t important right now. A lovely detail, yes, and it definitely spoke in his favour, but not relevant in the circumstances. What it did say of importance was that he was allowed by the owners of the establishment to move about in places that others weren’t, freely and often.

Sherlock had reached the upper floors. He bypassed the one where the enormous ‘communal area’ that he’d found on his first visit, at least for the moment. It would yield its clues, too, in time, but it was one big soup that he wasn’t overly keen on having his nose clogged with right now. Instead, he went up one more floor to where the living quarters for the Omegas of longer residency were.

He couldn’t merely be one that they’d sell off, then. Scent marks this strong from an Omega took time to develop and it would be highly unlikely that they’d keep him that long if they had intentions of selling him on.

A term floated up to the forefront of his mind. It had tried to a few times before but had been bulldozed by other thoughts. This time, though, it rose all the way up and presented itself in mental neon, so that he couldn’t miss it.

Harem.

That was what this was. It made sense; the large area filled with so many people, the minimal amounts of clothing, the relatively small amount of Alphas that were there for longer periods, the buying and selling…

But harems had been illegal in Britain for years and there were quite heavy-handed laws in place to enforce that criminalisation. Why would someone risk setting up one in the middle of London when the risk of getting found out and persecuted was so great? Criminals surely hadn’t become that stupid, had they?

To be honest, it was a small miracle that the titbit that harems not only existed but were illegal had survived the many hard drive memory wipes he’d performed over the years. By all logic and his normal practice, it ought to have been, simply because he was so utterly uninterested in things sexual or gender-related that such information was useless to him, quite apart from the harems supposedly no longer existing.

They’d obviously existed in this building for some time, though, and the speed and efficiency with which they’d moved out would suggest that they’d established themselves elsewhere before. So, how did they accomplish this without garnering unwanted attention?

It was registered as a residential house rather than a commercial one and to explain the people coming and going, it had been claimed to have been subdivided into flats inside. However, there were no tenant names registered for the supposed ‘flats’. That on its –

Sherlock’s thoughts were derailed suddenly. He’d just opened the door to the room he had determined belonged to his Omega, purely based on the scent and now that scent, which was ingrained into every part of the very sparsely furnished room, hit him full in the face. It invaded his senses to a point where he had trouble thinking about anything else.

The option to block it by covering his nose wasn’t really an option, even if he’d wanted to do that; the scent was hitting his taste buds as much as it was his nostrils and he couldn’t very well cover up both nose and mouth.

Trying his best not to be pulled down into another Rut – who’d ever heard of an Alpha going into Rut twice in a week? – he looked around the room.

It was not just sparsely furnished, it had a neatness to it, despite evidence that it had been abandoned just as quickly as everywhere else, that none of the other rooms exhibited. A rather particular kind of neatness, at that.

_Neatness ingrained,_ he thought, _born out of practicality and teaching. Military man, then, or more likely from a military family. Omegas rarely serve, mostly because they are almost never allowed to by their families or the military itself._

That wasn’t quite right, though. Taught by family members would produce a slightly more sloppy and relaxed attitude once outside the influence of said family member. This was neat to a fault, ingrained by superior officers rather than superior civilian.

How on Earth did an Omega who were skilled enough and either well-connected enough or strong-willed enough to make it into any branch of the military for long enough to have that neatness ingrained in him end up in a place like this?

He didn’t bother trying to work that out. It would be mere guesswork when he realistically had no way of even remotely making the connections, nothing to base those connections on, and he didn’t deal in mere guesswork.

So instead, he filed it as a very interesting facet to his Omega, with the growing suspicion that it would be far from the last one he’d find, and continued his search of the room.

He wouldn’t admit to it but one of the things he was looking for was a picture. With the neatness and the spartan décor, which wasn’t exclusively the result of the sudden move, it was unlikely that there’d be a portrait photo of him lying about. But there might be something like a group photo from his military days that he’d have –

There. He found it, folded up, at the back of a drawer that hadn’t been emptied out properly, tucked between clothes people wouldn’t think to rummage through. So, he wasn’t keen on anyone knowing about his past, not even through an innocent photo. Interesting.

Sherlock pulled it out carefully and opened it up. It was, as suspected, a photo taken while his Omega had been in military service; a group of people stood or sat around an army vehicle, clad in army fatigues, smiling broadly at the camera while squinting against the harsh sun.

There were at least ten people in the photo, only a few of which were Alphas that were taller than the rest, and the photo was some years old and had been folded for some time, but despite those facts it was easy for Sherlock to find the one he was searching for.

Once he did, he let out a small, involuntary gasp that he didn’t hear himself. He brought up a finger and traced it over the outline of the person just off the centre, who had his arms crossed over his surprisingly muscular chest and was grinning like he’d just had the best news ever. The laughter lines around his eyes were crinkled and his face was lit up in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.

How Sherlock could be so sure that it was his Omega when he didn’t remember any physical details apart from hair and eyes, which were difficult to make out about the person in the abundance of light, he couldn’t quite say. He certainly shouldn’t be.

But he was. This was his Omega. No question. He just…

He blinked. Something was coming back to him. It wasn’t crystal clear images or anything as concrete as that, but the vagueness of his memories collided with the visual he had from the photo and slid neatly into place, overlapping to become one. The different shades of blond, the laughter lines, the general demeanour.

And that was the danger. He wanted to know the identity of his Omega so very much and here was an apparent image of what that person could very well be, with traits that seemed to match what he so vaguely remembered or thought he remembered. What he’d want him to be, in a way. So, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that his brain would take those extremely tenuous tendrils of connections and forge them together to create a coherent, believable whole.

Normally, he wouldn’t let his mind go that far but he suspected that his instincts were coming into play somewhat, too, despite his best efforts. He tried to shake himself and separate the two things again but without much luck.

Why are you even trying? A voice inside asked. You’re just running away from the fact that you know perfectly well; this is your Omega. His scent is all around you right now and it tells its own story. Trust your instincts. They’re far better equipped for handling these things than you and your little brain will ever be.

He snarled instinctively at the unwelcome thought. What he didn’t do, however, was to crumple or otherwise harm the photograph. Instead, he very carefully placed it in an inside pocket.

He’d only just done that when he heard someone move about downstairs. It wasn’t that his hearing was unnaturally excellent but in the dead quiet of the house, any type of noise would be audible if you paid the slightest bit of attention. On top of that, whoever it was wasn’t exactly being stealthy about their movements.

Someone associated with the house who’d sneaked back to get something they’d forgotten? No, they’d all be monitored closely after the owners had to make such an undoubtedly expensive move. The owners themselves? No, they’d be fewer in numbers and would move about differently. This…

He rolled his eyes, cursing himself slightly for not picking up on the obvious immediately.

It was Mycroft. Only one of his teams would move with such efficiency and care yet be detectable to anyone who didn’t think like civil servants. Well, anyone with a fully functional brain, at least.

They couldn’t come up here. They’d ruin anything potentially useful to him, with their stomping around and disruptive smells. Admittedly, they were probably already doing that, but they might at least be prevented from coming up and ruining this room in particular.

He couldn’t have that, at least not before he had a chance to stash some of the clothes to take with him. Damn that he hadn’t thought to bring some evidence bags with him.

A small part of his brain flashed the concern that taking such a thing without permission was wrong. He dismissed it. It wasn’t to appease his Alpha tendencies, that was preposterous. It was merely to aid him find the man, by attempting to distil and thereby isolate the components that made up that elusive, exquisite scent that he was fast becoming slightly addicted to.

_You can scratch ‘slightly’ – and you won’t necessarily be able to do that, anyway. Even if you could extract sufficient particles that haven’t disintegrated in the intervening time to isolate, there’s no guarantee that you’d be able to find the exact notes that make your Omega’s scent so captivating. You’d know that if you could be bothered to drag your mind out of the gutter born of instincts._

No. there was no reason to be so negative. He was a genius, he’d gotten a first in chemistry for Pete’s sake. He should be more than capable of such a trifling little thing.

Irritated with himself, he stuffed some of the smaller items into his various pockets. Then. listening for the sounds of the team moving through the building, he made sure his still had the photograph safely tucked away and exited the room.

A small piece of luck had been finding out that every one of these rooms up here had a separate key for their locks. Again, wonderfully old-fashioned, to minimize digital traces. He took the one for that room and quickly locked it. Then he moved back down the hallway in what was designed to look like an efficient yet somewhat bored manner.

Halfway down the stairs, he came face to face with his brother, who had a rather peeved expression on his face. It only worsened by seeing the brunet.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sherlock said by way of greeting. “Didn’t expect you to manage getting out of your chair so often in one week and up that many stairs, too.  Well done, Mycroft, I must say. Working off some calories to feel better about the upcoming weekend’s cake binge?”

Mycroft’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance and the beginning of a sneer started to curl up his lip. But then he seemed to shake himself back into some composure.

“Not now, Sherlock. This isn’t the time.” He gestured with his ever-present umbrella. “I want you out of here, now.”

“It’s a free country. I’ve got as much right to break into private properties as you have, though I admittedly don’t get to do it with an entire team of elephants. Tell me, do they have special training where they learn to be as noisy and inefficient as possible or are they picked for their natural talents?”

Mycroft didn’t answer. His head was tilted upwards and his nostrils moved in a deliberately obvious inhalation. As Sherlock stood a couple of steps above him on the stairs, it was hardly difficult to work out what specifically he was trying to sniff out.

The elder Holmes shared his younger sibling’s olfactory abilities, much to Sherlock’s annoyance. Their parents didn’t have it. He’d always used it to tell when the brunet had been somewhere he wasn’t supposed to go or, later in their lives, to tell what he’d used to get high on. Then he’d either squeal to Mummy or use it as leverage so Sherlock wouldn’t tell on his sugar intakes or, later, the many rough-looking Alphas, both male and female, he brought home that left him a wrecked mess.

For an Alpha, Mycroft’s tastes were rather…deviant. To prefer his own secondary gender was an evolutionary dead-end that was only tolerated in Betas and was openly mocked in Alphas. It was only marginally better than having no interest in any gender, primary or secondary, which described Sherlock from the beginning and came to describe Mycroft as well once he graduated and moved into civil service, shedding the unwanted baggage of his youth.

Consequently, both Holmes brothers were considered either a stain upon their family name or a crying shame that ought to be pitied for their strangeness.

Or rather, they would have both been, if Mycroft hadn’t spent the best part of the last twenty years moving quickly but steadily through the ranks until he practically was the British government. Only as an eminence grís, of course, and to most people he seemed like merely a civil servant. However, even those people could usually tell that there was something more to this Alpha, something they’d be moronic to oppose, and so the farthest thing from their minds was thinking of his sexual preferences.

Just because he abstained from his gender’s normal tendencies as well as his own, more deviant ones, he was more than adept at picking up nuances. Perhaps even more so than his brother.

A light seemed to slowly dawn in his grey-blue eyes as he finished breathing in. He didn’t do anything quite as gauche as smile outright, but it could be seen in the minute crinkling around his eyes, that he’d found the missing piece to a puzzle and it was all coming together.

Sherlock tried to ignore that subtle gloating his brother was so fond of. He descended the steps between them, fully intending on brushing right past the other. He stopped as a hand grabbed hold of his upper arm, quite firmly. It was either stop or trip down the stairs and he wouldn’t give Mycroft that satisfaction.

So, he instead turned to face the redhead with as haughty and unaffected an expression as he could.

“Well, little brother. I must say. Will wonders never cease?”

 

* * *

JWJWJWJWJW

 

“John?”

The voice was quiet and, frankly, timid. So quiet in fact that it was almost impossible to hear in the general noise of the lorry moving through the streets and the low talk of the people crammed in between the many rather hastily packed boxes in the back of it. It was only because he was close by and had become accustomed to listening for his name being called at any time and any place that he heard it.

“Yeah?” he answered, equally quietly. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, not with what had happened just prior to packing up, but that was hardly relevant. He’d have to put himself at the back of the queue for everything for a very long time. This was no different.

That was also part of the reason he’d enjoyed that Alpha’s Rut so much, somewhat dangerous though it’d been, what with it not being discovered. Well, apart from the fact that the man was damn gorgeous, of course, and he smelled so wonderful. But that look in the handsome features, that John was something to be claimed and taken care of rather than just shagged and bred, that had kept creeping into his mind afterwards.

It was, of course, merely the Rut, and Rut caused by another scent at that, but even so, it had been nice to feel wanted rather than merely useful or needed.

_Damn Omega hormones,_ he thought as he mentally shook himself. _One would think that they wouldn’t make so much trouble when their primary function is gone._

_Not quite gone, though, are they? The rest of them function just fine, which you know perfectly well. Just take the subtle change in your scent now, even if no one else can smell it, signifying –_

He killed that thought quickly, possibly too quickly but he couldn’t bear it in relation to what they’ve just left, and focused on what was happening in front of him right now. It was far more important, or at least he told himself so.

“Where are we going?” It was one of the younger ones asking, sitting across from the blond, judging by the direction of the voice.

He’d only been there a year and thus hadn’t experienced a move-out before. He was meant to have been passed on almost immediately after arriving, but the owners had taken a liking to him and had decided to keep him. Which was probably for the best, horrible though it was to say; outside of Heats, when he would be enthusiastic but submissive, he was prone to panicking when alone with an Alpha.

The other Omegas and the Betas in the harem quelled that enough that within that forum, he could function and be the eye candy they wanted, and boy, did he fit that brief. He had every Heat for the next year booked.

“You were told earlier,” John answered shortly, though not unkindly. “Somewhere that’s safer.”

“But where is that?”

Others were now listening in on the conversation, the doctor could tell. He sighed.

“I don’t know. They never tell anyone. We’ll have to wait and see. Don’t worry, they always make sure that the new place is of the same standard.” How he managed not to grimace slightly at that, he had no idea.

The young Omega paused then gave a hesitant noise of understanding. “You’ve done this a lot, haven’t you?”

John smiled ruefully, which was lost in the darkness. “A few times by now, yes. Can’t say you ever get used to it but looking on the bright side, you lot will be out of my sight soon enough and won’t experience another one.” He raised his voice to make sure everyone heard him and sharpened it somewhat, too. “Now, get some sleep, all of you. You’re going to help unpack all of this once we get there.”

There was a variation of responses, among them teasing ‘yes captain!’ exclamations, but despite that most of them seemed to follow his instruction.

Once he was sure everyone’s attention, whether they were actually going to sleep or not, was off him, at least, he leaned his head back against the side of the lorry, feeling the movement of it as the vehicle moved through the city.

He didn’t even know whether they’d stay in London or even in the country. They’d been in France before the move to London, after all, and Oxford before that. Where they’d been before that, he didn’t know, but he had spotted that the move from Oxford to the north of France was too organized for it to have been the first time they’d done it.

Did it matter, though? The job was going to be the same wherever they went and getting out at this point wasn’t possible. Not with these people. At least if he wanted to keep this one…

He shot that thought down as well. It hurt to think of, as did a lot of the other thoughts simmering just below the surface.

Thumping his head back on purpose, he groaned and clenched his fists. Gods, he wished he’d never taken the job in the first place.

_Too late for regrets now, Johnny boy_ , an inner voice sounding much a little too much like his sister said. _You felt useless, remember, not being able to work even as a GP after all this?_

He mentally snarled at the voice to shut it up. Then he closed his eyes, trying to get some sleep. He doubted that he would, but he might as well try. It wasn’t as though there was anything else he could do.

As he finally started to dose off, he felt someone lay their head on his shoulder. Curls tickled his ear and his heart did an unexpected skip. Then he felt the breasts against his arm and his heart sank a little instead. Which was ridiculous, quite frankly; even if his Alpha – his Alpha, when the in the name of all seven hells did it become _his_ Alpha? – was clever enough to work out that they’d moved, how would he not only find the lorry John was on but get on it without being spotted? Quite apart from everything else that was absurd about it.

It didn’t stop him from wishing, though, sad as it was.

“Night, John.”

“Night, Ruby. Sleep tight.”

 

* * *

SHSHSHSH

 

Sherlock did his best not to rise to the obviously goading remark, though in that process he then failed to hear the undercurrents of worry and compassion in the voice. To be honest, he was at least a little curious as to what Mycroft was getting at. Expressing that curiosity, however, was tantamount to admitting defeat. That wasn’t going to happen.

So, he feigned ignorance and merely continued to stare back in the hope that Mycroft would get bored with the childish game long before his brother.

Mycroft wasn’t as easily put off as he’d once been, however. As a matter of fact, the expression on his face only grew more delighted.

He didn’t say anything, though, and eventually, it was Sherlock who cracked. He didn’t want to stand there for his brother’s amusement any longer.

“What’s so ruddy amusing?” he snapped.

“Apart from your ignorance? Oh, nothing.”

“Ignorance of what, exactly?”

Instead of answering verbally, Mycroft shifted his grip to the lower arm of the other, bringing it up so the wrist was right under Sherlock’s nose.

The pale eyes blinked in incomprehension and annoyance.

“Inhale,” Mycroft instructed, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

Sherlock didn’t for a few moments then sighed theatrically and took a deep breath. Then he frowned.

One of the best ways for someone to get a whiff of their own scent, which was otherwise rarely consciously considered, was to inhale directly at one of the scent glands located on the body. The strongest one was the one where shoulder met neck but since it was your own scent, you had to be very close to the gland to properly discern it.

You couldn’t do that with the one on the neck unless you were unusually limber. So therefore, people tended to use the one located at the wrist of the dominant hand.

Sherlock knew his own scent quite well, arguably more so than the average person. He’d had to use something to experiment on scent-wise in his university days. However, when he did inhale, it took him a moment to realize that it was different. Not significantly so but enough that it registered as…not wrong, per se, but certainly a little off.

He inhaled again to confirm and sure enough, there were notes in there that hadn’t been present at any point before. Notes that were somewhat familiar, too…

His gaze shifted towards his brother, eyes narrowed.

“Why is this?” he asked, his voice sharp.

Mycroft sighed. “I do wish you wouldn’t forget so many things that are vital to understanding society, Sherlock.”

“I don’t ‘forget’,” the younger Alpha shot back, even more irritated. “I delete useless information that’s clogging up my hard drive. Get on with it.”

“Patience, brother dear,” Mycroft admonished gently. “It’s a skill that I would’ve thought you’d picked up on in your chosen ‘profession’.” He let the last word drip slightly. “But to make it brief and clear enough for you, ‘this’ is because you’ve chosen a mate.”

Sherlock’s immediate reaction was an indignant ‘No, I haven’t!’, immediately followed by derision. He managed to squash down on both of those before they came out loud. There had to be more to it than that or Mycroft wouldn’t have bothered. Calling attention to the phrasing would likely only serve to derail the explanation in favour of annoying behaviour.

So, he instead kept quiet and awaited more explanation.

Mycroft sighed again, a tad too dramatically. “This isn’t the place to have this conversation,” he said as his eyes glanced meaningfully around the staircase and the adjoining rooms where people were going in and out.

“Whatever you have to say, you can say it here and get it over with. I have other things to attend.”

“Oh, yes, I can just imagine. No doubt you’ll be racing off to the next thrilling case of intriguing murders that will have nothing at all to do with this house and its now previous inhabitants.”

“You were the one who asked me to investigate in the first place.”

“Quite and now I’m asking you to move out so that my people can do their job.”

“Muck things up irrevocably, you mean,” Sherlock said with a snort. “You really should hire better people for important things – or do you just enjoy the opportunity to punish them when they eventually fail?”

The elder Holmes didn’t rise to it. “If you want this information, Sherlock, you’ll come with me now.”

Sherlock paused, ostensibly to consider it. In reality, there wasn’t too much to consider and he was being obstinate more out of habit than anything. He’d already gathered most of the information he wanted and if need be, the idiots wouldn’t be able to muck up anything he’d need to look into.

“Alright, _fine._ ” Sherlock pulled his hand away pointedly. “Shall we go, then?”

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t speak all the way back to another of Mycroft’s black cars, parked a discreet distance away. Once they’d gotten in, the car pulled away from the kerb and drove towards…wherever Mycroft had currently commandeered as his base of operations, presumably. Or possibly they were headed for a patisserie.

“Well, then?” Sherlock said as soon as they started moving, crossing one leg over the other. “What was so very earth-shattering about this that you couldn’t just tell me about it there and then?”

Mycroft took his time getting comfortable. Only once he was, did he deign to answer the question. “We could have stayed, if you want it to be known that you have chosen a mate that’s an Omega from an illegal harem.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse whether it’s splashed all over the tabloids, Mycroft. How something looks to others have always been something you’ve been concerned with. I couldn’t care less what the mass of morons that’s called society thinks about me.”

“Not even when it might upset Mummy?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.”

Sherlock paused, then narrowed his eyes. “That’s low, even for you.”

“I’m merely trying to look out for you, little brother, when you are so unwilling to do it for yourself. This isn’t any normal type of bonding.”

“Oh, really? And here I thought you just delighted in boring me with banalities to the point that my brain leaks out my ear so that you’ll finally be the smarter brother.”

Mycroft’s scent changed. It wasn’t overpowering or anything like the normal power displays favoured by macho Alphas who wanted to be the dominant Alpha. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, it was quite effective and to Sherlock, who also picked up on the familial scent notes designating their interpersonal status in the family, it packed even more of a punch.

Although he did his utmost to resist it, he found himself backing down almost immediately, much to his annoyance. He bared his teeth in a snarl even as he bent his neck in deference.

“Don’t do that!” he hissed. If he could find a way to sever that power that came from familial notes like that, he would, and he’d cherish the moment of severance dearly.

“I’ll do what I must to make you see sense, Sherlock, and right now I want you to listen. This is important.”

“You keep saying that but then you utterly fail to give any kind of answer, let alone a remotely satisfactory one.”

The ginger Alpha merely pursed his lips. “If you have indeed taken on some of the Omega’s scent, and there can be little doubt of that, then it is imperative that we find that Omega.” He paused, seeming to remember something. “Especially when, judging by the lack of teeth indents or puffiness to the scent gland in your neck, you haven’t then done the decent thing and bitten the creature in question.”

“He isn’t a ‘creature’!” Sherlock snarled before he could stop himself. Realizing his outburst, he checked himself but not before catching the minute smirk on his brother’s lips. He felt like he’d scored.

_You’re not the one with a headstrong, lovely Omega, though, are you?_ The thought must’ve come from his instincts, but he found himself unable to fully disagree.

“Really? Well, then, why don’t you tell me his name?”

“None of your business.”

The small smirk vanished from Mycroft’s face and the expression instead turned, of all things, sympathetic. You don’t know? That’s…unfortunate, to say the least.”

“You still haven’t bothered to elucidate why.”

“Frankly, brother dear, it’s because as it is, you’ve tied yourself, quite unwittingly it seems, to that Omega.”

“So? A bond can be broken.”

“Not…this kind. It’s not quite a bond, as such. It’s more accurate to say that you have found the other person that matches and compliments you almost perfectly.”

Sherlock huffed a derisive breath. “Pardon me for forgetting my violin at such a crucial moment.”

“Mock all you like,” Mycroft replied calmly, “it doesn’t alter the fact that there are several documented cases of it happening, to both bonded and unbonded people.”

“Surely you don’t believe in such sentimental claptrap.”

“I believe in the lawsuits that have resulted from a bond mate contesting this connection and refusing to accept the consequent breaking of their bond, of which there have been several. They make for relatively amusing reading in their bizarreness, though they sometimes seem to aspire to Jarndyce v Jarndyce.” The reference sparked no reaction. “The point is that once its been established, there is little chance of reversing it.”

“You can do it, then?” Sherlock asked, sitting up straighter in the seat. “If need be, it can be done?”

Mycroft’s features softened at the undercurrent in his little brother’s voice and in his scent, though Sherlock himself was likely unaware of both. It sounded and smelled like it had when Sherlock had been a little boy, a boy who was so very lost in trying to understand the social cues and customs of his peers.

“Why would you want to?” he asked, his voice quiet and understanding in that big-brother way that he hadn’t used for so very long. “Surely, this is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? Someone to be your partner, to accept you as you are? Someone who’ll be your deserving partner in every aspect of your lives?”

“I don’t need anyone!” Sherlock snarled back, more out of a knee-jerk reaction than anything. “Certainly not an insipid, demanding Omega who’ll be nothing but a nuisance. If this entire thing can be reversed, I will find a way and good riddance!”

He crossed his arms, defensive and defiant. In fact, a little too defensive, you could say.

Mycroft didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he just kept on looking at his brother as the car moved them through the city, his expression unreadable, even to Sherlock.

Eventually he spoke. “I will do everything in my power to help you find your Omega.”

"To make Mummy happy?” Sherlock said, sneering slightly. “I said I don’t – “

“And I don’t believe you!” Mycroft interrupted with a snap then subsided slightly. “You wouldn’t go to this much trouble for an Omega you didn’t feel a connection to, and a rather significant one it seems, and yes, I know that you have, even if you weren’t clutching at that photograph, judging by the size and shape of it.”

He paused, then went on, voice soft, “Don’t go wasting an opportunity like this because of your bull-headed stupidity and independence.”

_That’s rather rich coming from you._ He kept that within his own mind as something else finally seemed to occur to him. Disregarding the usual bickering and sniping, which was as much part of their modus operandi at this point as anything else, a sincerity and sympathy had gradually infused his brother’s behaviour, both in voice and expression.

“You are taking an awful lot of interest in this. Why are you suddenly so invested in my life and whether or not I have a bond mate?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I am genuinely trying to protect and look after you?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, frankly.

Mycroft only looked as though he’d swallowed a handful of too-sour sherbet lemons at once for only a moment. Then his expression softened again. “I never wanted you to be on your own, Sherlock, and a bond mate like this would be extremely beneficial.”

“I thought caring wasn’t an advantage.”

Something twisted in the older Alpha’s face. “It is not. Nevertheless.” He didn’t say anything more. Nor did Sherlock say anything in return.

Nevertheless. Just ‘nevertheless’. You couldn’t argue with ‘nevertheless’.

* * *

 

JWJWJWJWJW

John was dreaming. He knew in some distant part of his brain that all that he was experiencing was nothing but a dream aided by and built on a slew of more or less unpleasant imagery and memories rolled into a nightmare swirl.

Just because he was aware of it didn’t mean that he could pull himself out of it or stop the emotions that coursed through him as the dream unfolded around him.

He was running, moving as fast as he possibly could through the harsh terrain, the sound of battle all around him, heightened to thunderous booms and chilling screams while everything else sounded muted and unreal. It didn’t matter, though. What mattered was getting away.

Only moments before he’d been kneeling in the sand, trying to stop the flow of blood from a wounded comrade lying on the ground in front of him. That had happened in real life, but the flow then had been reasonable, given the type of wound, and John had been able to stop it before the woman bled out.

In the dream, however, it just wouldn’t stop; it flowed over his fingers, seeped beneath his hands, stained her clothes and the sand underneath. It was putrid and sweet in its smell at the same time and he gagged at the reek of it as he worked, something which he hadn’t done since he’d first started his training. She opened her mouth but before she could speak, more blood trickled out of it, choking her words.

He did his best to reassure her that it was going to be okay, she’d be fine, she just needed to hang on a little longer. At the same time, he failed to notice how his own body was reacting; the gradual rise in his temperature, the sweat on his skin gaining a slicker quality and his entrance slowly softening.

She smiled at him then suddenly let out an ear-piercing scream. Looking down, he saw that she was bleeding from somewhere else. Somewhere that she shouldn’t be bleeding from at all; when it had happened in the real world, she’d been neither pregnant nor close to an ovulating Heat.

Nevertheless, there could be little doubt as to where the blood flowed from. She screamed again but it wasn’t her scream anymore. It was an unsettling mixture of two women screaming at once, with the wailing of a baby mixed in.

Her legs were suddenly exposed and raised into the air as she screamed in labour pain. There was no sign of the baby but despite that, the wailing echoed among the other noises of war.

He cursed and frantically tried to stop his hands from slipping in the increasingly wetter textile and tissue. What now? How could he stop the flow of blood and deliver the baby? How could he save both mother and child as well as himself?

“It’s okay, John.” She had stopped screaming and was speaking now, clearly, even though blood continued to well forth from between her lips. “You don’t have to save me. Just make sure the baby’s safe.” Her face still looked like his comrade, who was an Alpha, but the voice was that of the young Omega.

“I do,” he said vehemently, holding back tears that hadn’t manifested in real life. “I will. I’ll save you both, I promise. You’ll be fine. Everything is going to be alright.”

How, he couldn’t see. With the blood already soaking into the sand beneath them, she should’ve died already but she seemed to still be alive. Barely. There was no way he’d be able to move her, even if the battle hadn’t raged all around them.

“I know…it will. But John…” She reached out to grab for his hand. “John, as soon as the baby comes, you’ve got to run.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you’re safe. I promise.”

There was something in her eyes; a strange kind of hunger was slowly growing along with her pupils, even as the light in them started to dwindle. “No…you’ve got to…to run. Run now.”

The hunger was familiar somehow, but John’s mind couldn’t place it. “Why?”

No answer came. Everything became quiet around him, except for two things. One was the crying of a newly born baby. The other was the heavy breathing just beside his ear.

He turned his head to see an Alpha grinning at him, his expression predatory.

That had also happened in real life, at least in a way. There had been an Alpha who’d managed to get up close in the general havoc of a battleground. He hadn’t managed to get anywhere as close as this nor had his face looked like a horrific amalgamation of all the Alphas that had taken John without his genuine consent.

Reacting on instinct more than anything else, dream and memory synched up for a moment as John rose to deliver as solid a punch to that face as he possibly could. He heard bone cracking but unlike in real life, the man didn’t stagger backwards or even stop.

Instead, he started to slide an arm around the Omega while the grin remained, only made loonier by the red blood against the whiteness of his teeth.

“Feisty. I like that,” the Alpha said and his voice sounded wrong, like several throats combined into one voice. “You’re going to feel so good around me as I take you again and again and again, despite your struggles. I like Omegas that struggle.”

John didn’t answer; his throat was working, his hands were shaking and, and he was now aware of his body reacting to the scent pouring off the other man, sending him further into Heat at a rate that only happened in dreams, fantasies and porn.

The worst of it, though, the absolute worst of it, was the way part of him wanted to submit, wanted to have the Alpha sink into him and claim him while he just laid still and let himself be manhandled. Let the Alpha do whatever he liked to him, merely because he was the Alpha and John the Omega.

Something broke through in his mind at that, a sense of defiance that seemed to come from outside. Like hell he’d allow that to happen. He may be an Omega but that wasn’t his choice. Becoming a doctor, a soldier, that had been his choice, that was what he was, not someone’s bitch to be bred and dominated, and there was no way he’d allow the man to turn him into that.

Despite not remembering having picked it up, he was now holding the still crying baby, which was far too small and pale for being full-term. The Alpha was right behind him still but somehow, he managed to get some distance between them by kicking backwards hard enough to send the man reeling. At least reeling enough to allow the blond to start running.

The body on the ground in front of him had gone as though it had never been, but his hands and clothes were still caked and coated in blood, which wasn’t drying in the slightest.

There were shouts from behind him, from that many-voiced throat, of rage and jeering, but they almost drowned in the sounds of battle suddenly ratcheting back up around him to a cacophony of noise. Still, the smell of the Alpha lingered in his nostrils, beckoning and repulsive at the same time. His thighs were wet from the slick leaking from his entrance and he was slightly dizzy with want. Perhaps it wouldn’t –

No! He wouldn’t give in, not for anything.

He redoubled his efforts, ignoring the trembling in his legs.

He vaguely remembered someone saying that you shouldn’t run, especially not in a combat situation; that when you run, you don’t think. He would like to see the idiot who said that try not running in a situation like this. It was probably an Alpha who’d said it.

The baby in his arms was still crying but it was getting progressively quieter the further he ran and not in a way that suggested it had merely fallen asleep. Looking down to check that it was still alive wouldn’t be a good idea. Not at the speed he was going, with the uneven terrain around him, quite apart from the people and weapons he had to try and avoid as he ran.

So, he kept running, the landscape around him blurring and twisting. Suddenly, there was no one around him, though the sound level was unchanged. What he ran through looked more like a forest than the desert but there was still sand beneath his boots. Sand with roots and rocks and bleached bones.

The tip of his boot hit something unexpectedly and while he managed to right himself, he lost the grip on the baby. Except, it wasn’t just one baby that tumbled to the ground; it was three, all of them small and silent, their eyes big and pleading as they fell.

What tore at his heart was the fact that he knew those three little faces, even though he’d only seen each of them once. They were etched into his mind, much as he tried to forget about them only for the sake of his own mental state.

_Mine…_

He reached out to try and grab them, try to protect them and keep them safe. Safe as they should always, always be. Every moment suddenly felt as though they were made through heavy treacle, though, yet they tumbled at normal speed.

As his fingers reached out, they almost touched one of the little ones but just as they did, it started to fade away.

He screamed, heart-broken and desperate, but unable to move.

Mine…my babies…my…

A shot rang out, audible despite the continued sound of battle rattling all around. John still didn’t recognize it as such before it tore through his shoulder, tearing flesh and veins as it made its way through his body.

Oddly enough, it both hurt more and far less than he remembered from when it had happened in the real world and at the same time, his nether regions burned, too.

He couldn’t focus on it, though. He couldn’t even scream anymore. All he could do was sit there, immobilized and traumatized.

Everything faded.

No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t fading, it was merely blurring, though whether that was due to the dream or the tears in his eyes, he had absolutely no idea.

Arms came around him, holding him close. At first, he did his best to fight them, thinking they belonged to the Alpha who’d tried to rape him. A belief only reinforced by the scent coming off the other person that clearly registered as Alpha.

But that wasn’t right, either. He knew that scent and it didn’t belong to just any Alpha. It belonged to a very special one.

“Hush now, John,” said an equally familiar baritone voice, speaking softly and soothingly. “It’s okay now. I’ve got you. You’re safe, I promise. No need to be afraid. You’re mine and I won’t let anything hurt you. I promise. You’re safe.”

John clung to the lanky body wrapping around him, sobbing for the loss of his babies and the loss of his Alpha. His swollen stomach trembled with the sobs.

 

* * *

 

 

He woke with a strangled gasp that sounded more like a choked outcry. Thankfully, he didn’t make any sudden movements and the sound was lost in the snores around him and the noise of the vehicle itself. It was almost dawn now. Somehow, he knew that, even though no light got into the lorry once it was closed.

Looking down, he saw that Ruby was still asleep, her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapped around him. So, he hadn’t made any sudden movements at all, then.

_Guess that’s where the feeling of arms came from,_ he thought to himself. Then he blinked and frowned as the rest of the dream came back to him. Or at least, it did so in pieces, some of them larger than others and some distorted and strange.

He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing a blue streak under his breath. Why on earth had he dreamed of that? He sighed. He knew why. It was hardly difficult to work out why, given everything that had happened.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t excruciating to relive, even if had only been through a dream. Oddly, though, the Alpha that he’d begun to think of as his had been almost as painful a part as getting shot while he’d been in Heat and losing the baby…

_No, wait, that’s not right. She was an Alpha, not an Omega. There was no baby on the field. There was…was…_

Memory and fabrication collided and spun, and it would take quite a bit to sort the two from each other again.

Accepting that he likely wasn’t going to get anymore sleep, he shifted to get a more comfortable position. As he did so, Ruby made a small noise of discontent and rubbed her nose into his neck, more than likely to get his scent gland to puff out some scent.

To Omegas, the scent of other Omegas who they lived with for an extended period of time became a source of comfort and as they sought it, it activated the nurturing instinct in the Omega whose scent it was. It was a hold-over from a time when they’d all been living in what was essentially enclaves, looking after each other and the children, protecting the members of the enclave from internal dangers, while the Alphas did their best to protect the whole group from outside dangers.

It was also the reason that harems had become a thing further on in the development of society and why it was only within the last half a century that it had begun to become frowned upon. A lot of countries had passed laws relatively early on once the protests had escalated into violence.

Good, old, conservative Britain had maintained it for a while longer, of course. Not so much because it believed in the freedom to choose whichever group dynamic most suited the individual person, as France and quite a few of the other European countries did as well as quite a few African ones and some Asian.

No, it had far more to do with it being so long-established that it had become tradition and how could you argue against tradition? You did something because it had always been done, and the explanation was 'But we've _always_ done it this way.' A million dead people can't have been wrong, can they?

Eventually, though, even Britain had been unable to ignore the changing winds and so, the law that made harems a criminal offense had been passed.

What had John take more notice of this behaviour this time around, as it was hardly the first time one of the younger residents had done this with him – being essentially the surrogate parent wasn’t always the easiest of tasks, but it had its benefits – was how his own scent smelled.

Truth be told, he rarely noticed his own scent these days, since it was so very…vague, to the point that to most people, he came off as being without scent at all. It was still there, just barely, a weak, pathetic thing in comparison to its former strength and nuances but you had to get in close to smell it, which also explained Ruby’s position.

Now, though…something was decidedly different. Not only was it strong enough for him to smell it without having to inhale many times in rapid succession, there were notes to it that were familiar but had nothing at all to do with his own scent.

He swallowed. Those were…those…

Those belonged to the Alpha. To _his_ Alpha.

A tendril of what had to be a mix of excitement, delight and utter dread slid down his spine at this realization. The excitement and delight were the most surprising, mostly because he hadn’t ever wanted to be swayed like that by an Alpha. That didn’t mean they were unwelcome, of course, far from it.

The dread was quite unwelcome, though. That was a great understatement, to be honest, because he knew exactly where that dread came from, which only intensified it.

He had to find some way to conceal that fact from his employers. To bond with someone without permission was bad enough, and most certainly disapproved of when it came to the one who was supposed to be a permanent fixture in the harem as keeper – and they tended to show that disapproval immediately and harshly. As he knew to his cost.

That’d be nothing in comparison to this, however. There was no doubt in his mind what those notes meant and if they even so much as suspected…well, he’d end up in a situation where he wished they’d merely thrown him out.

He couldn’t risk that, for both their sakes. He’d conceal it because he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. Some background on John, sort of :) Is the dream triggery? I'm never sure, so I'd appreciate being told if it is.  
> Still a long chapter (which is on purpose by now) with a lot of information. It's going somewhere and will have a pay-off, I just hope it's not been boring. To me it's been interesting to write, at least, with the world building.  
> Oh! I sneaked in two quotes from my favourite book series because I couldn't help myself and they fitted. No infringement intended. Can you spot them, though?


	4. Making plans, digging deeper, facing realities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Sherlock try to work out how get what they both want, in terms of the harem and John. Sherlock has to face some things about himself and his burgeoning feelings towards his Omega. Meanwhile, John has a few things of his own to deal with, among them his own feelings and an unexpected, and unwanted, guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...still hate working out titles  
>  Apologies for the wait. Things have been hectic and so a few things had to take a momentary backseat, this fic included. I have tried to make up for it by giving you another 10k chapter.  
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Once they’d reached their destination, Sherlock was somewhat surprised to see that it wasn’t any of the buildings that his brother had taken him to and called his ‘office’. Nor did it seem like it was merely another one to add to the pile, either.

Instead, they’d arrived at Mycroft’s own home, as overly, yet tastefully lavish on the inside as it was austere and understated on the outside.

Sherlock turned to look at his brother again. They hadn’t spoken for the rest of the journey there and had studiously avoided eye contact in that time as well.

The older brother had been busy on his phone, no doubt working hard to make sure that the world didn’t crumble into horrible anarchy while he dealt with a family issue.

Meanwhile, the younger hadn’t been idle, either. He’d deliberately opted not to sit and dwell on the information he’d been given. It didn’t make sense and he wanted to do some research on it on his own, without Mycroft looking over it.

So, he instead turned his attention to finding out more about his Omega. That he wasn’t overly keen on his brother snooping into, either, but for several reasons he eventually decided that he might as well. For one thing, Mycroft probably had access to at the very least the names of the people being trafficked as well as the ones staying already. With that kind of information, it hardly took a lot to link the notes coming off Sherlock to the origin, and thereby the owner, of the scent that had those particular notes.

Besides, how could he wait when the image of the blond standing in the desert sand was burned into his memory. Moreover, it had yielded something very advantageous to that search; the rank of his Omega, visible on his sleeve.

He couldn’t claim that he’d bothered to familiarize, let alone memorize, the different ranks of any of the military branches. What use would he ever have had for them? That had always been part of Mycroft’s domain, not his. Military incidents were either relatively straightforward, in Sherlock’s book, or they veered into the tediously political very quickly.

It took only a few moments of searching the internet to find out what the rank the Omega bore was, however.

_An army **captain**? Not only that, a RAMC doctor as well who was sent out on active duty to a warzone. Well, isn’t that an unexpected combination for an Omega. But it’s most certainly a very interesting one._

It slowly began to make a little more sense why this Omega, this atypical, relatively intelligent and courageous Omega, would be one he’d develop this…supposed linking of scents with.

That was, of course, assuming they had genuinely formed a link and that was a relatively big assumption, all things considered. A bond bite was normally mutual but that was mostly because one biting the other compelled the bitten to reciprocate.

This had no reason to follow the same rules. For crying out loud, it had managed to flourish, if not start, without them being anywhere near each other and there seemed to be no indication that it would stop or even slow down. There was no reason to assume that just because it had bloomed this much on Sherlock’s side that it would have equally blossomed for his Omega.

His instincts wanted to tell him that such a thought was ridiculous and cynical. That of course that was the case, why else would it be so strong? He’d felt the connection, despite the Rut, hadn’t he? Who else could he possibly say that had happened with? If it was strong enough to trump bonds that had been made the traditional, tried-and-tested way, how could it ever not be reciprocal?

Try as he might, though, his brain wasn’t going to accept that. He was not normal, after all. He’d spent most of his life knowing that, and a reasonably chunk of that refusing to be cowed by it to the point that flaunting it was no longer a coping mechanism but ingrained behaviour.

So, in an odd way, and he thought this without being maudlin or anything of the like, it would figure that if he was able to form such a special connection as that, it would end up being a connection that was unrequited.

Whether that was even possible in such circumstances, he had no idea. That was why he wanted to find out more about it all, and without the slant this his brother was undoubtedly giving it.

“Come, Sherlock, I haven’t got all day.” Mycroft was already standing outside the car, waiting slightly impatiently for his brother to get out as well.

You obviously do since you’ve decided to bring me back to your place,” Sherlock said. He did get out of the car, though. Mycroft was very protective of his home, much as he didn’t spend a lot of time there, so for him to have brought Sherlock here, regardless of familial connections, that was certainly interesting.

Even more so when they went into the building and the older Alpha actually led the way into the kitchen rather than the lavish room he used for a home office. Once there, he went to the counter and began preparing, of all things, tea and biscuits.

Then again, if there was someone who was British down to his core, it was Mycroft Holmes, and to the Brits, preparing and drinking tea was almost as good as going to therapy. Better, in some cases.

Sherlock, who’d seated or rather sprawled himself into one of the comfortable if somewhat over-stuffed chairs, raised an eyebrow. “Is all of this so shocking that you have to resort to your personal stash of baked goods?”

Mycroft, who had had his back turned while preparing the tea tray, stopped and sighed. “No, Sherlock, it is not,” he said, turning around as he did so. “What it _is,_ is both reassuring and worrying.”

The second eyebrow joined the first. “Surely not merely because my – the Omega is seemingly part of a harem?”

“Not seemingly, Sherlock. Definitely. No one with a room there would be a random visitor or even temporary. This was, or rather is, as I cannot imagine they aren’t relocating somewhere as we speak, a rather traditional harem, as those gain the most traffic among Alpha customers. Omegas that are meant to stay in the harem and not get sold on, they are given rooms, likely because it calms them to scent each other as well as enhancing the scent for the Alphas choosing to use the harem for its…original purpose.”

There was a note of disdain in the voice at that last part of the sentence, which Sherlock found odd, given that Mycroft did tend to believe in the old values, including that of the interdependent roles of the secondary genders. Then again, it reinforced that Alphas should choose Omegas to the exclusion of other secondary genders and vice versa. Seen in that light, it made somewhat more sense.

Mycroft turned back to finish preparing the tray, which he did fastidiously. Once done, he carried the tray over to the kitchen table, only sparing a short, though meaningful glance towards the way his brother sat as he went.

He sat it down and settled himself in his own chair. Then he poured tea.

“I forget, do you use anything?”

Of course, he didn’t forget. Mycroft never forgot minute details about people, unlike his brother, if only so that he could impress the person he was dealing with. Sherlock decided not to call him out on it, this time. Sniping didn’t give him the reaction he wanted, which made the fun go out of it. For the most part, anyway.

“Milk and sugar, please.”

Mycroft nodded and added just the right amount of milk and sugar without having to ask further. Forgot, indeed.

Sherlock’s eyes fell on something else on the tray then and he frowned.

“Ginger nuts?” he asked, sounding more puzzled than anything.

The smallest smile curved one side of Mycroft’s lips. “And plenty of them. I never did develop a taste for them.”

“And yet,” Sherlock said as he picked one up, studying it instead of eating it, “it is clearly fresh, judging by texture of it and the small amount of crumb it trails. It didn’t come from a packet either, as it’s nothing like as hard and crumbly as it would be if it was from a factory, quite besides the fact that you’d rather not have your house full of McVities and Walkers. So, a bakery bought, freshly baked biscuit of a type that you claim you never eat.”

He held the biscuit up, as though in a small triumph. Then he smiled and took a bite, while he still kept eye contact.

“Lovely,” he said. He meant it, too. The fact that he sprayed a few crumbs as he spoke was just a delightful bonus.

Especially so when he saw the look of disapproval that his brother didn’t quite manage to fully hide in time. He had always been the stickler for manners, in particular table manners.

However, he also saw the subdued but real note of gratefulness and, even subtler, one might even say care, if one was feeling kind.

“Getting back to the point,” Mycroft said a few moments later, after he’d taken a sip of his own cup, which was more sugar than tea, and swallowed his bite of jammie dodger. His diet had to have been put on hold, then, for him to so openly consume a biscuit that couldn’t even pretend to be healthy.

“And what point is that, exactly?” Sherlock asked.

He got levelled with a don’t-try-me look. “I am taking out valuable time to get this sorted out for you. Don’t be tedious just for the sake of it.”

“Nobody asked you to ‘take the time out’ for this.”

Mycroft sighed and put down his cup. “Getting back to the _point,_ no, it isn’t merely because it is an Omega from such an environment that you’ve…connected with. One of the more convenient things about such places is their attitude towards their…merchandise. Even the ones who are meant to stay in the harem can be purchased. At the right price, of course.”

Sherlock bristled at the word ‘purchased’, though he managed not to display it openly. Strangely, it wasn’t purely because of his instincts that he did so. A person like that, an obviously fascinating Omega who was more than capable of taking care of himself, should never be in a position where he could be purchased like some cattle at an auction. Instincts did come into it in the possessive thought of ‘his Omega’ but otherwise, they weren’t the loudest voice.

Very peculiar, indeed.

“I hardly think you’d be the one to buy up an Omega, regardless of the reason,” he said out loud, then took another sip of tea. “Not after all the years you’ve spent trying to stay out of the spotlight. A scandal would be quite the antidote to that. Wasn’t that why you sent me to investigate in the first place? To avoid the scandal?”

“Quite so,” the ginger Alpha agreed. “Payment comes in a lot of variations, however.” He flashed a smile that was about as amused as a shark’s.

Sherlock didn’t need to be told what that meant.

“The nature of the place where you’ve found your Omega,” Mycroft continued, “means that once discovered, as they have been, they will take him with them to their new bolt hole along with any other asset they have, if only to ensure that they cannot jeopardize their operation.”

“That applies to any and all Omegas that they sell or trade, though, not just the ones they keep, anyone of whom could potentially rat on the people owning the establishment once they’ve gotten out.”

“I know you don’t care about secondary genders but sometimes, they do inform behaviours of people that are important to know. You underestimate the domineering behaviour that many Alphas still display towards Omegas and the psychological make-up of said Omegas, whether that’s from birth or conditioned into them.”

“I know all that.”

“Do you, though? I’m not certain you do. When an Omega is passed from one Alpha that dominates and controls them to another, it’s highly unlikely that they’re going to tell anyone about what they’ve gone through. Assuming, of course, that anyone in the environment they’ve ended up in cares about what they have to say. An Omega who is not bonded to an Alpha before they’re let out of the harem, however…that is never going to happen.”

Sherlock felt a muscle twitch in his cheek at that. Why, he couldn’t quite put a finger on, though. “You’re the British government, Mycroft. Surely such a little thing is not a problem for you.”

“I cannot do whatever I want, Sherlock!” the elder Holmes snapped. “There are rules, there are consequences. There are delicate balances to maintain that I will not upset for anything. Do you understand me?

There was silence for a bit after that outburst.

“You haven’t just told me to forget about it and move on,” Sherlock pointed out eventually. His voice was not snide or anything that could be expected, though. Rather, it was quiet and a little…hesitant.

No, I haven’t. I don’t intend to, either. Not just because I want you to have someone important in your life that will complement you. One that you won’t shun. The reason I called it worrying was because you need to find that Omega. Whether you intend to develop and accept the bond or break it off, it cannot be done without both parties present. Even then, there are plenty of risks associated with the procedure, which hasn’t…”

“But, I’m stuck with the Omega until then?” Sherlock interrupted. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, mostly because of what he’d said earlier, but the word ‘stuck’ didn’t feel right at all now. If it was that Omega, he wasn’t at all sure he’d mind being bonded.

At the very least, he might get a friend who wouldn’t abandon him at the first given opportunity.

_Not again. Not this time. Please, no._

“Not merely that.” Mycroft paused. He then dropped his head slightly and pinched the inner corners of his eyes in obvious frustration. “You are aware of what happens if a bond made by a bond bite isn’t performed properly or the bond mates go too long without scenting each other?”

“Of course.” The connection clicked quickly, if not pleasantly, and the already pale features whitened further. “You mean – “ He stopped, the sentence getting stuck in his throat, which in itself was a strange experience.

“Yes.”

The silence returned after that, this time far more pregnant than the first.

When Sherlock finally did speak again, his voice sounded odd. “What can I do, then?”

“Let me help you.”

 

* * *

 

 

“John?”

“Mmh?” he answered, his attention more focused on moving the wardrobe into place than what was being said. Anything that would keep his body and mind as occupied as possible, really, was greatly appreciated.

They’d only just moved into their new accommodations early that day and there was plenty of things to move in. Thankfully, they’d been placed in a building that was just as large, if not larger, than the last one. If John was to guess, it was closer to an old manor house than the large, lavish town house they’d been put up in in London, a theory which seemed to be born out by the décor and general style of the rooms, especially the large communal ones.

Judging by the time they’d taken to get here, they were likely somewhere up in the lowlands of Scotland, possibly even the highlands. They’d taken quite a few detours to get here, likely in an attempt to throw off pursuers, so his calculations might be off, but it felt like Scotland or at least the very north of England. Once you breathed in that air, you never forgot it.

In some way, he felt a little better breathing in that air, even when he wasn’t allowed to go outside. He had some happy memories of this part of the country and with everything, he was grateful for whatever positive he could find.

It was impossible to back up whether they had landed in Scotland or not, though. Not only had they arrived when it had gotten dark again, the windows had been curtained shut in a way that was designed not to be opened again before they got there. This was to prevent people on the outside looking in and having their supposed suspicions confirmed – and the type of Alphas who frequented such an establishment as this did so love the clandestine nature and the titillation that the curtains _might_ open – but it was just as much to prevent the Omegas inside peeking out.

Much easier to keep people subdued if you keep them wrapped in a bubble. Do it for long enough and the bubble becomes their world.

So, John had thrown himself into whatever task had been asked of him, keeping busy. He hadn’t entirely managed to keep his mind quiet, though that might be just as well, as that meant he’d mulled over just how on earth he was going to conceal his changed scent without drawing attention to something being different about it.

“John, I really need to talk to you.”

_Of course, you do. Everyone does. Talk to John, who will listen to anything you say, whenever you feel the need to talk, regardless of what he’s doing or how he’s feeling. John, who can sort you out in a jiffy, mentally as well as physically, but doesn’t have any problems of his own. John, formerly known as John Hamish Watson, MD, ruddy Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, in a life that seems more like a distant memory, possibly a joke, now known only as John, a generic name to match the excuse for a life that he leads. Good Old John. Hah. They should just hang that up on the wall over my own, make it an exhibit for everyone who comes here._

He felt a hand tug at his sleeve once, twice, three times, each time more insistent and harder than the previous, until he finally stopped and turned around. There was a momentary reaction, presumably to the blond’s facial expression. He took a brief, but very careful moment to school his features back into the standard mask of pleasant, non-threatening John.

“Yeah, alright, sorry. Got caught up a little. What’s wrong?”

The other looked around him quickly and surreptitiously, as though to check whether they were truly alone or not. He’d already closed the door behind him when he’d come in, so the action seemed rather over-cautious. Or rather, it would’ve if they’d been living anywhere else.

“You remember that Alpha that wasn’t supposed to be there in the old house? The guy we helped get out of the building?”

As though John could forget that man, even if he hadn’t been slowly taking on the guy’s scent. To admit that to anyone could prove a very bad move, however, no matter how kind the Omega, Ben, had always been to him.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Him,” he said, feigning ignorance somewhat and smiling. “What about him? He hasn’t come back, has he?” His heart sped up quite a lot at that thought.

_Quell it, Watson. Nobody’s ever going to come for you. This isn’t a bloody movie script. Yeah, he was amazing in the sack and bleeding gorgeous, to boot, and yeah, you did get behaviour from him that you haven’t gotten from any other Alpha. That doesn’t mean that he isn’t going to forget about you afterwards, if he even remembered in the first place._

His instincts and heart piped up to argue the point that there had to be something more to it, if he was taking on the Alpha’s scent. That didn’t happen to any Tom, Dick or Harry, did it? Surely, with a connection like that –

_He’s what?_ His inner voice suddenly sounded like his sister again, when she was angry and mocking him to feel better about herself. _Going to realize just how special that one Omega that saw him through his Rut and then drugged him afterwards is? Then he’s going to come rushing to your aid and free you from this existence that you yourself, Johnny boy, don’t forget that, got into. You signed the contract, without any prompting. There’s not going to be any knight in shining armour for you, is there? That’s for proper Omegas who have sense, beauty and properly demure behaviour, not washed-up army doctors with bullet wound scars, emotional baggage and prominent stretch marks from previous pregnancies. You couldn’t keep those Alphas, what makes this one different?_

_Shut up, just shut the hell up!_

“What? No. I don’t think – how’d he do that? We don’t even know where we are. Unless he followed along on the roof of the lorry, then…no. Don’t worry, that’s not it at all – and nobody has said anything about it, either, I promise.”

“Right. Fine. Then what is the problem?”

“You know we took him back to the hotel, yeah? The one that clients like to use for when…”

“Yeah. You told me you did and did it without a problem, Ben, and I believe you.”

“Well, see, the thing is…the thing is, we had some trouble carrying him. Not because he was heavy, quite the opposite, but he kept halfway waking up and with those gangly limbs…well, it wasn’t the easiest. Anyway, something fell out of his coat pocket on the way and I picked it up but then I forgot to put it back.”

He stopped speaking and held out what he’d been clutching in his hand up so that the former doctor could see.

At first, John couldn’t make out what was nestled in the other Omega’s palm. It just looked like two pieces of plastic. Then it registered that it wasn’t an empty space between the two black plastic bits but rather a transparent piece that was curved. It was an unusual shape, but it wasn’t difficult to see what it was, then.

“A magnifier?” he asked out loud as he picked up, frowning. “Why on earth would you ever walk around with a small, retractable magnifying glass in your coat pocket?”

“Maybe he’s a police detective?” Ben suggested. “They use them, don’t they?”

“Probably not since the late Victorian period, if even then.”

Ben shrugged. “Maybe he’s a weird sort of stalker or maybe he just likes looking closely at things. I don’t know. But I apparently put it in my own pocket and I only realized that earlier when we started moving into this place.”

There was a small pause. “Okay. Fair enough. So…what do you expect me to do about it?” John asked.

“I don’t know. A memento, perhaps?” There was a small smile playing on the other Omega’s lips.

John raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, seemingly amused, at least outwardly. Inwardly, however, he had a very peculiar feeling at the mention of ‘memento’. He’d like that, pathetic as that sounded, but he didn’t want to have that hanging over him, at the same time. Not that he genuinely thought it likely that Ben would rat him out, but he’d learned to his cost that the only one he could truly rely on was himself.

“A memento?” he said out loud. “Whatever would I use a memento like that for?”

Ben smile grew and became a little more devious. He moved in closer and spoke in a low whisper. “Because you didn’t quite just take one for the team when you handled him, did you? There was something different about you then than there’s ever been before when you’ve had to deal with Alphas like that.”

John’s eyebrows knitted together at that, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he shifted on his feet. Ben took a step back and held up his hands in a placating and slightly alarmed manner.

“Easy there, easy. I haven’t been spying on you or anything. I wouldn’t do that, I promise. Come on, you know me better than that. I’m just saying…that doesn’t happen, hasn’t happened in all the time I’ve known you, so it wasn’t too hard to pick up on, even when you take your rather remarkable deflecting abilities into account.”

John didn’t answer but then again, he probably didn’t have to. Like it or not, Ben had not only been a comforting fixture in an otherwise turbulent, ever-changing small part of the world they inhabited, he’d been rather sharp, too.

Sometimes a bit too sharp, really, which was probably part of the reason such an otherwise young, attractive Omega had been dumped into a harem shortly after presenting and why he was still there after four years. That and he was rather bad at keeping that sharpness a secret from potential Alphas.

Not that he seemed particularly bothered by it, to be honest, but he always tended to look brightly at everything, daft as that sounded in the circumstances.

The other man moved forward again. He gently pried one of John’s hands out from its position and placed the magnifying glass in that hand. Then he gently, carefully closed the fingers on the hand around the object.

“Keep it, John. I mean it. Don’t just say yes and then throw it away when you think I’m not looking. Keep it and treasure it, okay? Whatever that Alpha did to you, it was good, and you need that. You _deserve_ that. Bloody hell, you deserve to have that Alpha come back and – “

"Right, that’s enough,” John interrupted, his voice gone a little gruff. “Thank you, it’s appreciated, but…”

Ben grinned. “I get it. Big, tough soldier Omega doesn’t need soppy sentiment from a guy who couldn’t even finish his O-levels.”

He leaned closer again. “I’ve got to ask, though – did you really let him top you?”

John punched him lightly in the shoulder, a smile starting to spread on his face, too. “Sod off. None of your business, you little brat.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“Piss off.” The blond was grinning, too, though. “Go help set up the rest of the stuff or go explore or whatever.”

Ben was halfway out the door when John spoke again. “Hey, Ben?”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, John?”

“Thank you. For – “

“No problem. You look after all of us, it’s only right that it should be reciprocated once in a while.” With that, he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

John only realized he was clutching the magnifying glass hard when the edge of it began to cut into his palm.

He stuffed it into his pocket and got on with what he’d been doing.

As he worked, however, to his puzzlement he found that couldn’t push the thought of not so much the Alpha but the person beneath that out of his head. It kept nudging its way back into the front of his mind, asking just what kind of man he was and what in the seven hells he would break into a compound such as that for?

Not that he hadn’t had those thoughts before this point, of course. But they were far more detailed now than they’d ever been and focused more on the man himself.

_Face it, Watson. You like the thought that it might not be the magnifying glass that he comes looking for and you like that thought because of the associated thought, or more accurately wish, that he might indeed take a look at you outside of Rut and decide to take you away from all of this, like some ruddy Prince Charming rescuing the princess Omega. You should know better by your age, you bloody stupid sod._

And he did, he really, honestly did. But at the same time, he also knew that you didn’t get that kind of scent connection without there being something between the two persons involved, or sometimes three people. That the connection itself could be on different levels but, insofar that he knew, there’d never been a case of an established scent connection that turned out to be completely unrequited, not even when more than two persons involved.

So, a more realistic hope might be for the Alpha, and what he wouldn’t give for Ben to have accidentally picked up something with a ruddy name on it instead, to come and find John. Even if he didn’t exactly have a movie-like eureka moment of recognition, he’d still identify the blond Omega as the one with the same scent notes that he’d developed.

He then had the thought that that was rather unlikely, even inside the extremely unlikely situation that he would find them up here, seemingly miles from everywhere, given the little scent he put out in the first place.

If only he hadn’t gone into Heat when he’d been…

He shot that thought down as soon as it started forming. What had happened had happened and there wasn’t any changing that, however much he wanted to.

But hadn’t the man actively seemed to sniff the air repeatedly during their rump? More importantly, hadn’t he also sniffed around John specifically? Had he? It was difficult to remember for certain, given everything that had happened, but he did seem to recall something to that effect.

Again, it was certainly more than any of the other Alphas who’d foisted themselves upon John in the time he’d been working here had done. One cursory sniff was all they’d taken and then there’d been a slight souring to their scent that indicated their displeasure with that fact. That didn’t mean they hadn’t then continued with their intended claiming, of course, but it had most definitely changed the tone somewhat.

Outside of Rut, it was entirely possible that that would be the case for his Alpha, too, wasn’t it, though?

John unconsciously squared his shoulders at that thought. Even if it was, he would still rank higher than any of those people. He was certainly far more interesting a prospect that anyone else had been. It didn’t hurt that he looked bloody great, too, either.

Perhaps he’d be amenable to maybe giving friendship, or at least some form of camaraderie, a shot? It was highly unorthodox for an Omega and Alpha to be just friends if they weren’t bonded but…perhaps? There had to be some reason an Alpha that did genuinely fit the moniker ‘tall, dark and handsome’ wasn’t already bonded, right?

_There probably is and for all you know, it could be a very good if very unpleasant reason. Do you really want to get mixed up in something potentially dangerous or even just a horrible bond? You’ve seen that happen more times than you care to remember._

Even the most thuggish or otherwise horrible of Alphas could get an Omega if they wanted one, though. That hardly explained why he’d remain unattached for well past the time he would’ve presented. So, why hadn’t he?

While he’d been lost in thought, he’d not only finished moving things fully into the room – it was meant to be used when an Alpha decided to purchase a Heat rather than the whole Omega – he’d walked quite a long way away from that room.

As he wasn’t yet familiar with the layout of the building, he didn’t quite know where he’d ended up except that it wasn’t towards any of the larger areas such as a dining hall or parlours or similar. Instead, this looked a lot like more residential rooms and empty ones at that, waiting to be filled with occupants.

One thing there was still there was an old mirror from the heyday of the building, complete with rococo splendour that was slowly peeling off in little flakes and a reflective surface slowly being eaten by cracks and dark spots, rendering the image patchy at best.

What he could see in that mirror tallied relatively well with what he knew he’d look like, which wasn’t exactly prime material for an Omega, except there was something more…not haggard, per se, but decidedly more haunted and longing than he remembered ever seeing before. As well as something else, too.

He stepped closer in the hope that he’d be able to see what it was but without much luck.

_What did you expect to find? Indents from teeth that you yourself kept away repeatedly? You kept him at bay yourself, Johnny boy, you’ve only got yourself to blame for this predicament._

He found himself standing up straighter and almost glaring back at what he could see of his reflection.

He was no blushing Omega, that was true, but nor was he going to sit around and wait for an Alpha to swoop in and save him.

_No, but you do have a responsibility to the Omegas living here. Are you really going to abandon them all at the first opportunity you get just because an Alpha turned up that was slightly better than the others you’ve encountered in your life?_

Of course, he wasn’t. Regardless of what he thought of the people running both sides of the establishment, and those were anything but positive, he thought a lot of the people that were in his care. Therefore, the thought of abandoning them for almost any reason, never mind something like an Alpha of all things, was very unpleasant even to contemplate.

Yet, he wanted to find his Alpha, whatever the underlying reason…what to do?

What he could do that’d be a sort of reasonable compromise between the two would be to do some research on the man. He had no idea how he’d manage that, both in terms of searching on mere appearance and getting access to something that could perform such a search. That wasn’t going to put him off, however.

One way or the other, he’d find out, and while he was at it, it’d be a good idea to research further how he could conceal the change of scent before it got any more pronounced than it already was. Before it was strong enough that it alerted –

“Oh, hello, John. I didn’t expect to find you all the way up here. What a lovely surprise.”

 

* * *

 

 

The two Holmes brothers spent the next hour or so engaged in conversation on how best to carry out both their objectives, with surprisingly little time wasted on sniping and digs.

To Sherlock’s even greater astonishment, though he’d never admit it, it seemed that his brother was indeed genuine about wanting to help him. At first, part of him couldn’t help but try to figure out the ulterior motive hidden behind this apparent sincerity, utterly certain that there was one. After all, that was how he operated. In a sense, that was who Mycroft was, working in layers upon layers of machinations, all designed to give him the desired result.

So, it only made sense that he’d be doing the same thing here, quite apart from the obvious benefit this would serve in finding the harem and its owners, to put an end or at least dampener on the scandal that the ginger Alpha was so certain was imminent.

And yet…

And yet, though he looked for it, with all the skills he’d picked up and honed over the years, he couldn’t find any trace of it. Of course, Mycroft wasn’t stupid; he would be perfectly aware of his baby brother’s actions and could then do his best to hide it.

The thing was, Sherlock could usually spot that, too. What was more, it wasn’t the blank mask of someone apparently unfazed. Instead, it was the face he could vaguely remember seeing when he’d been a little, upset boy asking for his big brother to set everything right again.

He wasn’t keen on admitting it but that made him both somewhat resent and cherish it.

Of course, that realization didn’t entail that they saw eye to eye on everything. What kind of a sibling relationship would that be, after all?

“You can’t go gallivanting off in the direction of wherever you think they might have gone, Sherlock,” Mycroft was saying, sounding weary.

“I do not gallivant and it’s not a thought. It’s a deduction.”

“Nevertheless, it’s a phenomenally idiotic idea that could not only potentially jeopardize the entire operation, it could also end up killing your…intended.”

Sherlock snorted derisively and smirked slightly. “He’s a soldier, Mycroft, he can take care of himself.” As he said it, he felt a distinct twinge of pride at that thought. His Omega wasn’t just anyone. He was a captain doctor.

A small part of him wanted to shout that out loud to the entire world but he dismissed it as instincts. Still, it wasn’t a completely unappealing thought.

The older Holmes wasn’t smiling in the slightest. “Can he ‘take care of himself’ against a bomb? Against carefully executed, barely detectable poison?” he said, his voice sharp. “Because any of those are not outside the realms of possibility. Quite the opposite; I can show you the news articles from the countries where it’s happened.

He took a breath before he continued. “Yes, they prefer to scarper to save their assets but if the threat becomes large enough and unavoidable, they have been known to dispose of their Omegas, completely and utterly. They do not want to be captured and will take whatever means to make certain they won’t, including mass murder.”

“And they haven’t been caught yet?” The disbelief was obvious in Sherlock’s voice.

Mycroft sighed heavily. “No, they have not. Harems aren’t illegal everywhere but when they have been cornered by Interpol in those places and have killed off their assets, they’ve either bribed or otherwise handle the local government, including its police, which has then been a hindrance to the operation. That was why it was essential that we caught them while they were still in England.”

“They haven’t left the UK and they don’t plan to. At least not yet,” Sherlock said. If there was a sudden hint of urgency in his voice, what of it?

“Oh? And how do you figure that, exactly?”

“Rather easily, actually. If you take a closer look at their recent entries in their stock-book, you’ll see that they have several Omegas that they’ve paid quite heftily to acquire. Obviously, they need to have that investment reimbursed, at the very least, by selling them off again, likely to a waiting list. To avoid risks in airports or in general, over-seas travels, they do not sell to customers outside the country they’re currently in, so they’ll at least stay until that’s been settled.”

“Why not just find a new buyer in wherever they’ve travelled to?” Mycroft questioned, though it seemed as much a small challenge as a genuine question.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb just to irk me. That much money to spend on an Omega means relative influence, one way or the other. When such Alphas want something, they expect to get that exact thing, not any substitution. Selling off an Omega to someone else that they’ve already set their sights on, I can hardly imagine that going down well, can you?”

Mycroft inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. “That does give us some time on our hands, then, which is just as well. They’ve been spooked somewhat by this whole disaster – “

“Not as though I planned on going into Rut, is it?” Sherlock interrupted. “And it was on your insisting that I went in there in the first place.”

“Yes, yes, quite so. The point is that we have to tread carefully so as not to risk losing them again while still moving with speed.”

“Obviously. But then, that is your remit, isn’t it?”

Mycroft poured himself another cup of tea, likely because there was only a few hobnobs left on the small plate and he only ate those when he had plenty of tea to dunk them in.

“You mentioned the man was a soldier. You can’t have been too deep in Rut for you to notice that.”

Sherlock wasn’t going to comment on that. That was nobody’s business but his. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out the photograph he’d taken for himself, taking a moment to study the face again as he unfolded it, a small smile forming as he did so. It was with some considerable reluctance that he then handed it over for Mycroft to look at.

The older Alpha took it without comment. He then frowned as he quickly assessed the picture and the people therein.

“Which one of them is the Omega in question?” he asked.

Sherlock pointed, fighting the irrational urge to snatch back the photograph. It was nothing but a snapshot picture, it didn’t matter whether anyone looked at it or not. And yet…the urge didn’t go away.

“The Royal Army Medical Corps,” Mycroft observed. “So, not just a soldier. Interesting.”

“Of course, my mate is interesting.”

“No, I meant, how does an Omega like that, clearly intelligent and with a lot of skill and bravado if he got through both medical school and into the army, end up in a harem of all places.”

“I...don’t know,” Sherlock admitted.

Mycroft didn’t comment further. He passed the photo back, noting the way his brother grasped for it as soon as he held it out.

“I think you might have been luckier in your choice than you realize. The story that goes with that soldier’s admission into a harem such as that will provide us with the key to getting at them to dismantle their operations.”

The brunette bristled. He wouldn’t have his Omega used like that, he thought, forgetting that being used, in one way or the other, went with being an Omega in the first place, and especially when it came to one in such an establishment.

 “You’re not interrogating him just because it suits your whims, Mycroft. That isn’t why I agreed to let you help me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, don’t worry. I’m hoping that he might be persuaded, once he’s been liberated from within that structure, to give evidence against them on his own free will.”

“And what would make him do that?”

Mycroft smiled a smile that indicated he found something amusing that he realized wasn’t genuinely that funny.

“I think I can think of a few reasons.”

 

* * *

 

John stiffened before he could stop himself. It was only for a brief, but tense moment, though, then he relaxed and turned to face the unexpected intruder into his private moment as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Hello, sir. No, I guess I got a little lost,” he said, smiling pleasantly as he took in the newcomer.

Not that he hadn’t seen him before. He wished he hadn’t, quite frankly, but like it or not, he’d bumped into the man several times in his time in the harem. It had never been with an intent to indulge in the assets, so to speak, at least not as far as John had seen or heard from any of his charges. As the man was an Alpha, one without a bond bite, that was rather puzzling.

Yet, John bumped into him every now and then, and he seemed to take an odd interest in the former doctor, but without any significantly sexual overtones.

Whether he was even one of the owners or not was left up for speculation as well. He certainly seemed like it, with his access to the buildings and familiarity with everyone, though it was somehow one-sided, but he never acted like it; the owners were rarely seen in the establishment and then, their preferred Omegas were usually requested for a specific room beforehand. This Alpha seemed to enjoy his wanderings, though, as if spending time there was somehow a respite from his daily life.

“We’ve been over this before, John. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’. It makes me feel so old and important.”

“I’m sorry…sir.”

The Alpha merely grinned at the insubordination rather than get angry at it. “Oh, there’s something in a soldier being cheeky to his commander without actually doing anything that could land him into trouble.”

He stepped closer until he was standing right up in John’s personal space, touching with everything but actual skin or cloth. The blond refused to flinch or back down. He hadn’t yet, no matter what the other had pulled, and he wasn’t going to do so now.

The Alpha’s eyes lit up. “Good boy, John. Very good. Soldier stands his ground, no matter what. You really are wasted here.”

He leaned in closer still to the point that he was just about brushing John’s skin with his nose. So, when he inhaled a moment later, the blond could feel it as much as hear it.

Though he somehow or other managed to stand his ground, a large part of him felt an incredible urge to push the man away, both because of being uncomfortable around the Alpha and because he wasn’t terribly keen on anyone like that being that close to his scent glands.

Indeed, there was a pause after the inhalation. Then another, deeper one that seemed overly deliberate and was followed by a small but pointed chuckle.

John stood his ground, his face and demeanour as impassive as possible as the other pulled back, taking a few steps backwards as he gave the Omega a new, appraising look that was rather uncomfortable to receive.

“Well, well, well. Whoever would have thought? You never do cease to surprise. Most delightful, really, in this world of boredom and dreary predictability.” The grin spreading across his face looked stolen from a too-large fish. “And you’re going to staunchly bear it, aren’t you? No matter what gets thrown his way, John Watson will bear it.”

John did stiffen at that, though he thought he managed to keep it contained. He wasn’t in a position to hit the man, after all, not if he didn’t want to suffer consequences like before. His heart was another matter entirely but that couldn’t be detected.

No one here knew his surname. To them, he was merely John, had been since he came here. He’d been very careful about that; there were thousands of Johns in the country, he’d hardly be significant. To blend in and not attract attention beyond what he would as an Omega, that had been part of the reason he took the job in the first place. So, how did the guy know?

Yes, it was on the contract he’d signed but there’d only been one person apart from John in there and as she had moved on to one of the owner’s other establishments shortly afterwards, it was highly unlikely she’d have spilled the beans. Had he gotten access to where the contracts were kept, then? Why?

The man seemed to pick up on his discomfort, which apparently only delighted him more. “I don’t go snooping, if that’s what you think. Boring to go snooping, don’t you think?” The eyes flashed very briefly with something dangerous. “I have… _other sources_.”

With that, he stepped forward again but instead of getting up close, he walked past the blond, nonchalant as anything.

“Don’t go spoiling the fun by not contacting your scent bonded, now,” he said in a low voice as he passed the other. He continued walking as though he hadn’t said anything.

John turned to follow him, his heart speeding up a little further.

“See you soon, John!” the Alpha called without turning around, sticking his hand up to wave a goodbye.

It took until a good while after the man had disappeared down the stairs for John to relax and realize his hands had been balled up into fists, where his fingernails had left stinging indents in his palms. He resisted the urge to slam one of them into the wall beside him.

Gods, he wished he wasn’t in this position, regardless of how much his own fault it was.

_Well, there’s one way that could be resolved._

No. That wasn’t why he wanted to find his Alpha. If that was ever the only reason, he’d rather not find him at all. He wasn’t going to play for sympathy or pity if he did find him, didn’t want to seem like he only wanted him to get out of this place.

What he wanted, in fact, was to be seen as his equal, not taking their status as Alpha and Omega into account. Be worthy of being seen like that.

His resolved stiffened. No matter what he had to do to make it happen, he would find his Alpha – and he had better do it soon before the man he’d just met again stirred up trouble, which he undoubtedly would, regardless of what he’d said

There was bound to be someone who had got a phone or something else that could access the internet. Someone who wouldn’t notice its absence.

He thought but of the few who actually came regularly, there was only one somewhat inattentive person and he’d never seen her with a phone or laptop.

How else?

For a brief moment, he contemplated asking the man for a phone but dismissed it instantly. There was no need to put himself further into trouble with someone who had access to the house and its owners, and whose moods were about as changeable as they came.

Perhaps one of the other Omegas had one? Unlikely, to say the least. They would’ve been confiscated the minute they stepped foot into the establishment then destroyed to sever any and all possible connections to their former lives.

John had had his phone confiscated too when he signed the contract, though at the time, it hadn’t seemed a great loss. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d called someone on it or had someone call him. An Omega without Heats and, more importantly, without any proper scent, wasn’t someone you socialized with once the requisite pity was done with.

Things like that, something unpleasant and wrong that was an unwanted reminder of the frailty of gender structures and the rules around them, didn’t sit well with normal society, to put it mildly, and so they were repressed and ignored until they disappeared. Or rather, until they just went away. Became shadows in dimly lit corners, wisps of reality warped into insubstantialities.

So, a shadow he’d eventually become, after many failed attempts to scream past that growing wall of denial and wilful blindness, a far more effective one than most in the same situation, as evidenced by the others in the harem.

As a permanent shadow, though, he did have the small benefit of seeming unthreatening to the light of normal people, including the patrons of the harem, and even other shadows like his charges. Like it or not, part of what made him so appealing to them was how much worse his station was than theirs. They weren’t malicious or even cognizant of doing it, most likely, but that didn’t alter the fact of the matter. It was part of human psychology, after all.

In the circumstances, though, that could prove beneficial to him. He might not be able to get to a phone without raising suspicion, because he had no regular clients, or even clients at all, but that didn’t extend to them. What they, or at least one of them, could do was attempt to sweet talk one of their more amenable and kind-hearted clients. Someone who wouldn’t think too much of splashing a bit more cash, especially if they could get a bit more time, exclusive time, with their Omega of choice.

He started his walk back in the direction he thought was likely to have the entrance hall. If nothing else, the people guarding that area of the building would be enough clue for him to know where to head afterwards.

How to convince one that it was a good idea? It wasn’t as though most of them had the most cordial of relationships with their clients, and that was putting it mildly. Why would they help him out when it could potentially mean having to spend more time with someone who used them in that way?

_Perhaps you could just tell the blooming truth instead of faffing about with too-complex lies?_ His inner thoughts could be rather blunt at times, unpleasantly so, but it was a point.

_You’ve never exactly been the master of lying, not to people you care about, and they’ve proven that they care for you in turn, regardless of their possible pity of your circumstances. Don’t let on that you want to actually meet him, that’ll very probably scare them stiff, knowing their fear of the owners. Just…say that you want to at least know his name. That’ll get the girls tittering and the boys sniggering and would deflect attention from the heart of the matter nicely._

They’d probably think it romantic, the idiots. Something out of an old movie, where the Omega in dire circumstances becomes smitten with the dashing, chivalrous and secretly caring Alpha who will ultimately rescue the Omega and make everything alright again. The Alpha always got the Omega in the movies but in the old days, at least they made it seem as if it was to take care of that Omega. That wasn’t reality, but it made the escapism easier, especially for watching Omegas.

Which one of the young ones to ask, though? He would never entreat someone who was uncomfortable or unsure around Alphas outside of Heat to do it, he wasn’t that desperate. Whatever may have led him here, he took his responsibility for them very seriously.

_Seriously enough to leave them behind?_

Of course not. Quite the opposite. But one thing at a time. To get ahead of himself was to risk not only getting his hopes too high and see them crash, but running headlong into a world of problems he wasn’t prepared for. He’d been there before, after all.

One hand almost instinctively found the lower part of his stomach at that thought, rubbing gently at it in soothing circles.

No. What he needed was to play it…not safe but as smart as he possibly could. Not only for his own sake but for that of his Alpha and for his charges.

A name suddenly popped into his mind. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of her before? She had the perfect regular Alpha client and neither of them would mind if the Omega…buttered her up a bit, as it were.

In fact, that was why the Alpha, a very confident and powerful brunette styled to within an inch of her life in that deliberately casual way, had come so often when they’d been in London. She liked the indulgence that came with no set expectations beyond what existed between the four walls of the here and now, with no real limitations. She especially liked when the Omega was able to match her and had circled through the ‘main staff’ until she’d found the ideal one for her criteria.

Though he wasn’t aware of it, after that realization he’d begun to walk with longer, much more confident steps. He was also gradually walking straighter, step by step getting closer to something resembling his old walk instead of the more round-shouldered and decidedly defensive gait he’d walked with for longer than he cared to remember.

He had a plan now, one which he’d put into motion as soon as possible. There was still a long way to go but he was confident that he’d make it.

_I’ll find him. Whatever happens afterwards, I’m going to find him. If nothing else, then to sort out this whole scent-business between them. Hopefully for the better._

 

* * *

 

Sherlock went back to his flat on foot, having had far too much of his brother’s scent caught in his nostrils for one day. In fact, he was sorely tempted to pull out the garment he’d secreted and inhale that, just to get the familial stench out of his nostrils. Though, that was possibly as much an excuse to smell it again as anything else.

He could certainly admit that like it or not, he was developing a bit of…not addiction, he wouldn’t call it that, but a bit of a dependency, perhaps? Just a mild case of wanting to have it stuck in his nostrils as often as possible, perhaps to the point of it never truly leaving his nostrils.

Instead, to cover that feeling up, he stuffed his hands firmly in his trouser pockets, ignoring the already bit tighter than usual fit of them. That was for later, if even that.

He was feeling unusually optimistic, though he had more than enough to worry about with what he’d learned in the past day, both in relation to himself and to his Omega. That in itself was something of a novel experience, at least to what he’d kept in his Mind Palace; genuinely worrying about other people or even himself rather than a case or some experiment going wrong.

Was that just his instincts playing into it, though? That need to look after a chosen Omega, whether through bond bite or other means, manifesting in worry and concern for the person? But those instincts were relatively universal for Alphas and yet, so many Omegas were used and abused when they were in a bonded relationship. So, either instincts weren’t where this was coming from or they weren’t so ingrained that they couldn’t be relatively easily overruled.

Or perhaps it was because other instincts were in play there, overruling the others; the instinct to claim and to possess rather than to look after and care. He was still frustratingly hazy on what had happened during his Rut, but more vague feelings and visuals had emerged since then, more confusing than anything else. Among them he could remember the possessive thoughts that had occupied the parts of his mind which hadn’t melted into lust-addled goop.

Now, though…there was still a decidedly, and someone else might say worryingly, possessive tint to…whatever he was feeling for his blond Omega, but it was outshone by something else that was almost the complete opposite.

Whatever the reason, there was no denying that he did worry, not just about finding the other and whether or not he could convince him to…to not break the bond, regardless of what he’d said to Mycroft, but also how he was potentially treated now and how it’d affect him if Sherlock didn’t hurry up and find him in time. Plus, all the other minute, mundane, everyday things that were definitely the result of instincts.

Why was he so relatively cheerful, then? And he was smiling, as though he’d been given a 9 of a case.

Perhaps his joy came from a mix between having put plans into motion, plans devised by the two of them, thus greatly reducing the risk of failure, and knowing the name of his Omega. It had been provided by one of Mycroft’s lackeys, complete with rank and regiment, who had then asked for a little more time to dig for the full profile, as military records on Omegas were behind such a lot of red tape and general bureaucracy that even Mycroft’s clerks needed some time to get through it all without arousing suspicion.

He’d been told he’d have it by late this evening or early the next morning at the very latest.

_John Hamish Watson, RAMC and Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. I will find you!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, *really* liked writing the brothers here. Their interactions are always fun but it was nice to have a few softer moments, too.  
> I only now realise that I've named the other Omega guy Ben. That was genuinely not intentional on my part but heyho. :)  
> This might be a let-down to people, I don't know. I hope not but please, stick with me. :)


	5. Finding a way to each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Sherlock requires a few more steps than John would've thought but that isn't going to stop him. But then again, maybe his fears will do their job. Meanwhile, Mycroft insists on a proper course of action that won't risk John staying with Sherlock. But time is running out, and not just for one, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I profusely and sincerely apologise, everyone! I didn't mean to take almost two months to get the chapter out (and it's no longer five out of five, either). I have struggled very much with writing in general as well as life, and on this story in particular, sadly. But it's here, that has got to count for something.  
> Thank you tremendously to *everyone* who has been kind enough to leave feedback on this in the intervening time, it's truly made the world of difference. <3 Seriously! <3

John’s heart was hammering in his chest as he looked at the small, unassuming box lying in the middle of his neatly made bed, its white cover almost gleaming in the limited light from his single bedside lamp. Its outside certainly didn’t reflect the importance and significance it held for the blond Omega.

It had, objectively speaking, not taken that long for it to finally land in his hands. A mere fortnight from asking the question to the female Omega he’d thought of, through waiting for the female Alpha to book a session, as she had a liking for Omegas outside of their Heats, to the moment his female charge had pulled him aside to whisper that her Alpha had been to visit her and had brought not one but two phones, both with plans already paid for. When he voiced his worry about that under his breath, she’d handed him one, smiled and told him not to worry and that she’d explained further later, when it was quiet.

Yet, it had felt as though it had taken absolutely ages and that time had been hell to go through. Joy and excitement had warred with trepidation and worry, on top of having to check himself to make sure that none of it showed on the outside, so that no one would suspect that anything had changed.

The worry had only ratcheted up when he’d noticed that not only was his scent growing stronger, which in itself was rather worrying though also somewhat wonderful, it was getting more and more apparent that he had scent-bonded with an Alpha and was taking on more and more of that Alpha’s scent.

So far, nobody seemed to have cottoned on to the change, thankfully, and he’d taken care that he hadn’t been close to anyone for long enough that they’d risk working it out and taking the fact that he’d been with an Alpha without authorisation out on him in some way.

And now…

Now it was here, finally, and all the other worries seemed to fade into the background, at least in comparison.

His hands were shaking rather badly as he reached for it, casting another look at the closed door to make sure he wasn’t being watched by anyone, but he managed to unwrap it and turn it on. It ought to be plugged in and charged but after so long, he couldn’t find the patience for it. Not in this instance.

One might think that he’d be better off searching for a way to dampen or at least conceal the changed scent, and that was very likely true, but that wasn’t his primary goal. The search for his Alpha seemed far more important to him, regardless of how it could look to anyone else.

He might not know his Alpha’s name or anything else about him and his daily life, but he could remember his appearance quite vividly, both with and without clothes. The coat he’d been wearing was rather distinctive on its own.

Therefore, in combination with the other memories and the growing certainty that his Alpha was a detective of some sort, he felt…no, to be honest, he didn’t feel certain that he’d be able to find a picture of him. What he was certain of was that he’d be able to recognize him should be lucky enough to actually find a picture of him, which was hardly the same thing.

It was all he had to go on, though, and if nothing else, he could ask around forums.

_And what? Ask if someone has seen a tall, dark and handsome Alpha around London recently?_

No. Whether there were any freelance detectives, private investigators or whatever operating around the Greater London area who might fit the description. He was rather striking, after all, in more ways than one, and that was completely objectively speaking, of course.

_Oh, yes, because that is going to narrow it down so much, isn’t it? Certainly, the likelihood of there being too many or none at all or even just a load of people wanting to troll you is minimal. Not to mention that writing on such forums could lead someone back here, thus ratting you out to the owners. Is that what you want?_

Of course, it wasn’t. But…

Angry with himself for still doubting, he opened up a browser and somewhat laboriously typed the words ‘freelance detective Alpha London city’ into the search engine.

He didn’t expect to find much. He hoped for it, yes, obviously, but he didn’t expect it.

Therefore, he could admit that when the search engine came up with a reasonably good, or so he’d estimate, selection of possible websites that weren’t completely unrelated or stupid. More than that, there were also a few pictures shown and his heart when from hammering to skipping a few beats.

They accompanied various news articles and though the articles were focused on the rich victims of the array of crimes they reported on instead of the man who’d solved the case in question, which extended to the accompanying photographs, there was no shadow of doubt in John’s mind.

That was him. That was his Alpha. He had his coat collar turned up so that it obscured some of his face, and he was standing behind the rich person or persons, but he’d been right. He’d recognize those features anywhere.

He quickly scanned the first article for a name, but it only said ‘so-called “consulting detecting” claimed to be vital to solving the case’. The next one was kind enough to leave out the condescending tone and quotation marks but otherwise wasn’t helpful, either.

He eventually found it in the fifth one.

_Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective._

Sherlock Holmes. What kind of name was that? Rather fitting for the man, though, he’d have to admit that. To try and pin a mundane ‘Peter’ or ‘James’ on those looks and bearing would be much like attempting to put up flatpack furniture in the halls of Buckingham palace.

He just as laboriously as before typed the name and the admittedly interesting title of consulting detective into the search bar and came up with a few more, rather better pictures, even if they clearly weren’t taken by professionals. His fingers hovered but with a good deal of effort, he managed to curb himself from saving any photos. That could be a step too far if anyone should ever find the phone, and he wasn’t too sure he’d be able to delete the photos again after he’d downloaded them.

What he else found was a website that looked to be run by the man himself. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be a bio or any solid information on the personality and John wasn’t particularly interested in soil samples. He would admit that it did bring a certain dimension to the man, that he cared more about cases and experiments than he did selling himself to any potential customers.

Speaking of customers, however…

John’s breath hitched as he scrolled through the text, forgetting to keep checking for potential late-night visitors just ‘dropping in’ for a visit, and found something. An email address, for clients to contact him, but only with _interesting cases._

John snorted in amusement, somewhat in spite of himself. Somehow, that seemed fitting for the man from what he’d otherwise seen on the website. The main part of his brain, though, was more occupied with the thought that the email address meant that he could get in touch with him. He could actually, genuinely write to his Alpha and know that it went directly to him, if what had been posted by others, both good and bad, was any indication.

He tried to remember what his own email account was and whether he even still had one. In the end, though, he decided that it would be easier to just make himself a new one. Again, he had trouble recalling when he’d last even used one. Possibly just after he’d been honourably discharged? That would fit, certainly.

Once he had set it up, however, which took a frustratingly long time, he found his fingers were hovering over the screen, reluctant to press down and write anything. He glanced towards the door again then took a deep breath…

And his fingers still wouldn’t move. He’d been thinking, wondering and hoping for so long and yet, now that he was faced with a concrete and tangible way of contacting the very man he’d been thinking of, he couldn’t do it.

What was he going to say? What could he say? That he was the Omega who’d seen him through his Rut when he’d broken into an illegal harem, then drugged him afterwards and had him dragged from the premises but could he please forgive him for that because they’d apparently scent bonded and he would very much like it if they could find a way to have some kind of relationship, though it needn’t be sexual or even romantic?

Oh, yes, that’d go down _swell._

_Oh, get on with it and get over the melodrama, Watson. You don’t have to phrase it like that and you know it. Write to him as though you’re anyone else, a normal person, the equal that you want to be. Don’t say too much other than maybe hinting at where you’ve met him. He’s obviously bright – let’s not get overly sold on the whole ‘genius’ bit, since it’d be stranger for an Alpha **not** to be boastful and exaggerating about the thing they value most about themselves – so it shouldn’t be that difficult for him to work out the rest. Hell, he was bright enough to work out a way inside the building when others have continually tried and failed._

But that brought him to his next worry; would an Alpha like that have any use for an older, scarred, washed-up Omega like him? Someone who couldn’t go into Heat anymore yet still produced eggs, though rather intermittently, admittedly. So, there was a hazard that he might still breed him, in case what he wanted was the allure of sex without ever having the risk of offspring, as it had been put to John by his less than understanding therapist.

_If you have that many hang-ups about yourself and how it might turn out when you contact him, then why did you ever do all this horse-hockey in the first place?_ His inner thought countered, its tone somewhat mocking. _Surely you aren’t that desperate for that adrenalin high that you went through all this for that?_

Of course, he wasn’t. That was ridiculous. But he still had that, when you examined it, rather ridiculous worry. What would happen if he was turned down or the Alpha, Sherlock, didn’t even dignify him with an answer? An Alpha in Rut was quite a different creature from an Alpha outside of it, after all.

He wouldn’t be any worse off than he was now. Except, of course, for a broken heart and another set of shattered hopes. That was hardly beyond what he’d had to deal with before either, though, was it?

_This time, you haven’t got the timer of a scent bond hanging over you, though. You haven’t exactly got the same luxury as before._

Merely fretting about all the problems weren’t going to solve them, however, one way or the other. He closed his eyes for a moment, then set his jaw in anger and determination when he opened them again.

Enough!

He pressed on a letter, then another. Soon enough, he was writing out a, relatively speaking, rather spartanly worded email where he tried to convey his meaning without coming off as a clinging Omega who thought they had something special just because they’d shared a Rut and exchanged fluids.

When it came time to press ‘send’, though, he found the hesitation had crept up again. Irritated with himself, he hit the button and watched the screen intently as he waited for it to send.

In his internal battle and nervous focus, he’d completely forgotten to keep an eye on his door. It was pure dumb luck that the room he’d been set up in had a slightly sticking door that you had to push at to open the first inch and then scraped across the floor. Well, not really luck, as he’d spotted that when they’d moved in and had arranged it so that he got that room. It had hardly been that hot a commodity among the rest of the Omegas, true, but still.

It _was_ luck that his mental presence crept back in time for him to hear it and deposit the phone in his jeans pocket before the door moved enough for anyone to peek in and see that anything was amiss.

He very briefly considered dropping it into the small bedside drawer but estimated that he wouldn’t reach it in time, and so he just prayed the phone was thin enough that it wouldn’t be noticeable.

“John? Are you in here?” It was Ruby’s voice. She sounded rather…not timid, per se, but apprehensive, as though she knew something that she’d rather not know.

He resisted the childish urge to say ‘no’ and instead said, “Yes, of course, Ruby. What brings you here this late? Come in.”

He could just about see her face peeking through between the door and the frame, and so he smiled and patted the bed next to him to try and put her a bit more at ease.

It didn’t have the desired effect; she pulled her head back slightly. “No! No, that’s not…I mean, I’d love to but I can’t. No, you can’t, I should say. It…I…oh, this is such a mess!”

“It certainly doesn’t get less messy when you can’t say what it is.”

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, what could be seen of her face looked rather torn. Then she flung the door open the rest of the way and practically ran into him. He managed to catch and stabilize her before she toppled them both. As it was, she was clinging to his jumper, not crying but undeniably shaken.

“Hey, now, what’s all this? Are the pills not working?”

“No! Well, yes – but that’s not the problem. Well, kind of, but…they’ve found me an Alpha!”

“What, for your Heats? But we’d sorted that out – and you’re not due to have one for another month, at least.”

She shook her head wildly, her hair bouncing and hitting his throat. “No, for permanent.” Her breath hitched and for a moment, it looked as though she would begin to cry. “They’ve had an offer from an Alpha – you know, the big one with red hair.”

“But he wasn’t so bad, was he?” John asked. To be honest, he’d been one of best-mannered and sweetest-tempered Alphas he’d ever come across. Brushing aside the cynical insistence from the darker reaches of his mind that that was merely a cover, he was pleased that of all Alphas, that was the one who’d taken a liking to Ruby. “Or did I read that wrong?”

“No. No, he’s…he’s not bad, especially as Alphas…but the problem…the problem is…he’s coming to get me in two weeks.”

“But you haven’t had your first Heat here yet.” The Omegas always had at least one Heat on the premises before they were shipped off to whatever Alpha wanted them. Not to be comforting or caring, of course, but merely to see whether they were…fully functional, as it were. No one wanted faulty merchandise, after all. “They can’t do that.”

She really did start to cry then. Between the tears, and he could more than understand why she was crying, he managed to get out of her that that was the problem. They planned to have her on Heat inducers a few days before he was due to arrive, so he got a chance to…sample his purchase before he took her away, as it were.

John did understand, then. For the inducers to overcome the suppressants, they’d be strong enough to basically make her a doll, unable to object to anything, her body a sexually willing prison for her mind. If she was particularly unlucky, she might never truly get out of that induced Heat and her mind could potentially be left in tatters.

The doctor in him made an estimation of roughly how much that would need to succeed, and he just about managed to quell the sharp intake of breath. She didn’t need to know that reaction.

As he did his best to soothe her and at the same time keep her from finding out about his worry and horror about this as well as his secreted phone, he also came to a sudden conclusion. To be honest, it was more a realization that led to a conclusion, but the effect was the same.

He wasn’t going to leave her to a fate like that. How the hell could he? He was a doctor, for crying out loud! It was what he was supposed to do, look after the people in his care, make sure no harm came to them to the best of his ability. That did not mean letting a poor, already traumatized young woman be ruined forever for nothing other than profit for the owners, who didn’t care about their assets one way or the other.

_Oh, so now you decide to regrow your conscience? What about all the other Omegas who have been shipped off to whatever Alpha paid the required amount for them? Do they just not count, then? Or is it because you want to get out of here yourself and having her as a sad little waif to save gives you the perfect excuse to run like the clappers and take her with you?_

No, that wasn’t it. If he left, however unlikely that possibility seemed, they wouldn’t just be two. He wasn’t going to leave any of them, if he could possibly help it.

_Possibly help it?_ the voice said, its tone mocking. _Oh, how conveniently phrased. Loop big enough to jump through, really, but then again, you’ve never liked the fact that you fail people, have you, Johnny? You shout, you fight but you fail. Over and over, reliable as anything. About the only thing you’re reliable on, innit?_

His heart did an involuntary clench and he swallowed at that very unpleasant thought.

As she seemed to have exhausted herself from crying into at least a heavy doze if not outright sleep, he thought he could risk fishing his out phone again. She mumbled as he did so but merely buried her face deeper in his neck and slept on.

An errand thought wondered whether he should be worried that she seemed so attached to his scent, using it almost as she would have a lovey.

He kept the phone behind her back as he opened it, so the light wouldn’t disturb her, then looked at the email. First, he was annoyed that it reported it hadn’t sent the email. When he noticed it was because he hadn’t typed in the recipient email address, he pursed his lips in annoyance over himself.

Perhaps it wasn’t that bad, though. Not sent meant he could rewrite it and make it more appealing to the man by drawing attention to the aspect of it all that most seemed like a case.

It was clear Sherlock Holmes loved puzzles and challenges. He ought to like one like this, getting two Omegas out of an establishment like this when security had been tightened. Why else would he have bothered breaking in the first time if not for the challenge? Unbonded and unattached, according to the news articles, he didn’t seem interested in base nature, so a harem wouldn’t appeal. Nor had anything been reported stolen.

He rewrote it somewhat, shifting the focus then pressed send, after adding the email address. This time, it did send, flying off with his hopes and fears all packaged in digital wrapping.

“John?” the muffled voice sounded sleepy as well as croaky.

“Yeah?” He held the phone carefully behind her, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“Your heart’s hammering a million miles a minute. I can feel it.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“‘s alright, don’t say sorry. Just…worrying, you know.” Despite her exhaustion, it wasn’t hard to see her still being distressed.

His heart clenched again. “That’s my job, Ruby, not yours. That’s why you’ve got me, remember? I’m supposed to be here for you all.”

He patted the bed. “You stay here and get some sleep, I’ll go and – “

“No, please stay,” she interrupted as she sat up, her expression alert and haunted. “Please don’t go.”

“Alright,” he said with a smile he didn’t feel. “I’ve got to warn you, though, I’m a bit restless when I sleep.”

“It’s okay, I’ve shared a bed with my mom and my three siblings, I don’t mind kicking.”

When they’d both settled in, she smiled sleepily. “You smell so nice, John. Didn’t notice before but you do. Like home.”

“Do I?” he asked, somewhat guardedly.

“Mmh,” she murmured, drifting back off to sleep. “Like my mom when she was pregnant with the twins. Was nice. This is nice, too.”

It took him a good while longer to fall asleep himself, staring up at the ceiling.

 

* * *

 

The following week was rather unusually busy for Sherlock, at least when a case wasn’t involved. But then again, this was, for all intents and purposes, a case, it just wasn’t about a dead body. It was about a smuggling ring, though, so in a way, it was hardly that different from normal procedure.

That was, apart from the personal aspect. He was invested in a way he’d struggle to remember ever experiencing before; it was as much, if not more, an emotional investment as it was an intellectual one. Definitely more. A lot more, to be honest.

He had with the keenest of interest poured over the file he’d been sent by Mycroft’s lackeys, as promised delivered by the following morning, and been most interested in what he’d found there. His initial assumptions and deductions had been proven correct and they had only been built on.

One might consider getting the file to be cheating, at least in terms of getting to know his Omega. But Sherlock saw no point in playing fair just for the sake of playing fair. He wasn’t going to use the knowledge he gained for anything but help to flesh out what kind of person John was and how he might best be approached.

He most certainly wasn’t going to charm him with it; if he was to do that with knowledge about John as a person, he was adamant he’d do it purely through his deductions at the time. His intelligence was his forte, not his physical strength like most Alphas, and while there was a risk that it might not be well-received, Sherlock hoped that he could appeal to his Omega through that.

When he’d gotten to the part of the papers that detailed John’s honourable discharge from the army and, far more importantly, to the reason for that discharge, there’d been an entirely involuntary, sharp intake of breath at what he’d read, and his stomach dropped.

A memory, more of a tactile memory than a visual one, of a scar that was gnarled and spidery and not at all neat had surfaced in his mind as he’d read of how the bullet had gone right through the body, missing the heart by happenstance more than anything, How it had then gotten infected, how it had happened right when his body had been gearing up to go into –

Pages fluttered to the floor before he’d been aware that he’d shoved the files away from him and right over the edge of the table.

He’d frowned at himself. Why the hell had he done that? He needed to know as much as possible about –

_Do you really want to consider what in all likelihood happened to him after that?_ a part of his brain had enquired. _That wasn’t the only scar he had on his torso, was it?_

Another scrap of memory emerged from behind that hazy wall; stretch marks of varying degrees of fade made patterns across the otherwise flat stomach. Tell-tale stretch marks.

He’d found he was growling to the point that it might more accurately be termed snarling. His teeth had been bared and his fingers had dug into the table surface.

_His Omega should be carrying his offspring and only his._

He’d blinked, a little stunned at his possessive thoughts but more so at the thought of the Omega, of John carrying children. No, not children in general, really, but Sherlock’s children. Even more unexpected had been the mental images of blond curls, blue eyes and small, waddling bodies and, most of all, the accompanying feelings towards those imaginary children.

Despite everything, he hadn’t quite been ready to handle all of that, so after that, he’d kept the file close to but firmly shut. What he wanted to know, he’d already gleaned or at least, so he told himself.

So, he’d thrown himself into gathering the information that he hadn’t been able to find in the file, which was mostly centred around what happened after the…discharge.

It wasn’t purely to gain more information on the man, though that was a nice bonus. He’d done some research into the general, normal organisation of a harem, both from what had been customary in Britain before the ban and what other countries did. In that process, he had learned that it was customary to employ a so-called ‘keeper’; one whose job it was to look after the other Omegas in the harem, whatever that might entail, and be the go-between and the emotional buffer.

They tended to be older or less attractive Omegas who couldn’t find an Alpha, and once they’d signed the contract, it was nigh impossible for them to leave, regardless of what the contract stipulated or their wishes. The very small print was there for a reason, after all.

That wouldn’t be enough to keep John there, though, Sherlock was sure of it, just as he was certain that the blond had to be a harem keeper rather than merely part of it. Not on its own, not a moral person like him. If he wanted out, he got out, contract and consequences be damned. So, there had to be something else as well, something to make him stay.

Whatever it was, Sherlock needed to know and to find that out, he needed the details of that contract. He’d been all for sneaking his Omega out of there, possibly in some fiendishly clever and daring rescue, but Mycroft had put his foot down on that front quite heavily, refusing to be swayed or otherwise convinced.

He’d said that the organisation should be demolished and if Sherlock stole what they owned beforehand, he eroded that completely and gave them ample grounds to not only take his Omega back but punish the Omega for his ‘breach of contract’. Sherlock could of course then always try to buy back what might be left of him.

When he’d tried to argue that point, with the reasonable argument that the man obviously knew how to fend for himself, Mycroft had merely sighed heavily.

“You were drugged before you were dragged out of there, effectively so. Do you think a facility that houses drugs strong enough to subdue _you_ for any substantial amount of time would let an Omega return without drugging him into complacency first chance they’d get?”

Sherlock hadn’t had much of a point to argue there, much to his annoyance. It wasn’t annoyance that had taken up his immediate thoughts after that comment, though; instead, it was an insidious sort of horror at the truth of the statement and its implications.

Complacency might not be the point at where they’d stop, at all, and what he’d get back, if he did get anything back, was hardly worth calling a human being.

As though there wasn’t enough pressure and urgency to get it done as it was.

_But you don’t want to lose John, do you? Is it any less of a risk just because it stems from bureaucracy?_

No, it wasn’t, and what he wanted was the man who stared back at him in the photo and the one who had taken such care of him, and so he agreed with Mycroft’s course of action, much as he loathed and despised the inactivity he was forced to endure until then.

An instinct was shouting at him that he ought to spend his time making sure that when he was able to take his Omega home, it would be to somewhere nice and inviting, perfect for the pair of them. It should appeal enough that he’d be allowed to bond with him properly later…that he wouldn’t be instantly rejected.

Doing his best to dismiss a silly, outdated instinct, he instead focused on pestering all of Mycroft’s assistants and clerks, making sure that they wouldn’t muck it up.

Nothing any of them did dissuaded him. He couldn’t afford to let this go wrong, so he’d make sure that absolutely nobody would cock it up.

Everything had to go to plan.

 

* * *

 

Once he finally got back home from one of the seemingly indeterminable, so-called ‘intelligence gatherings’, almost two weeks into the ‘case’ – instances where they could work out everything apart from, apparently, where the bloody hell the harem had bleeding _moved to_ – it was late in the evening. So late, in fact, that night had come and almost gone again. He thundered up the stairs, ignoring the shouts from his landlady to be quiet, and threw himself into his chair, coat still on. There was still a thing or two that he needed to check.

Fed up with his texting, Mycroft had confiscated his phone. Well, he had _tried_ to, at least, but Sherlock had dodged, weaved and made an even greater nuisance of himself as he did so. Eventually, they reached the…not agreement, not quite, that the brunet would turn it off for the remainder of his stay. It was that or Mycroft would not only stretch the search out further but make sure that when the time came, Sherlock would be left twiddling his thumbs in London, forcibly if necessary.

With that genuine threat looming, he’d reluctantly agreed, and, when he’d tried to turn it back on, it had been so low on battery that it had about two minutes left before it went black again. He’d cursed and shoved it back in his pocket.

Now, back home, he could at last plug it in and then wait for it to charge enough that it’d allow him to at least access the ruddy thing again. Waiting was an exercise in frustration. When it finally booted up, he saw that a few emails had arrived while the phone had been off.

He checked but just as quickly dismissed them. They were cases hardly worth his time, certainly not at the moment. There were far more important matters to deal with.

Just as he was about to delete them all, though, something caught his attention and made him pause.

There was one email, sent rather late. What captured his attention, though, was the sender’s email address. It was so bland as to practically be shouting.

“Well, hello, Doctor Watson,” he said quietly, his heart suddenly beating quite hard in his chest.

He skimmed through the email, noting, with some interest, that the focus was on getting help for another Omega rather than himself and the no-nonsense, direct way he had of writing. He also couldn’t help the leap his heart gave at the thought that John had been the one to contact him, to find his website and write him.

A sense of pride also crept up on him with the knowledge that John hadn’t signed his name or given any indication of identity. There was no doubt that it was him, though pressed on it Sherlock wouldn’t quite be able to articulate how he knew. He just did.

_Clever John._

While he read, however, another thought ran through his mind, gradually getting momentum.

They could find him.

That had been the problem; there was no trace of John about half a year after he’d been discharged from the army and that had been several years prior. There should’ve been _something_ to go on, as everybody left some sort of trail, especially in the modern, digital society. And yet…

Yet there’d been nothing, absolutely nothing at all. The harem had found him and after that, it was as though John H. Watson had ceased to be.

But now…now they had something concrete. The email had to have been sent from some sort of device and whether that was from a computer, a tablet or a phone, all of them were traceable.

He had to put the phone down for a moment so that he didn’t drop it. His hands were shaking badly, and his breathing was equally shaky.

He was within grasp now. All this time. All this waiting and searching, not helped by Mycroft’s insistence that he had other matters of importance to attend, despite him knowing full well the urgency that came with the scent bonding…all it had been rewarded.

_Hardly a reward when he’s the one who’s got to make the deciding move, is it?_

Sherlock ignored the comment. Taking a deep breath, he forwarded the email to an equally nondescript address, with one single comment added;

‘Trace him. Now. SH’.

He got no reply but then again, he hadn’t expected to get one. It would be done and that was what mattered.

_I’ve found you, my Omega. Finally. Hold on, John, I’m coming to get you!_

 

* * *

 

John was below him, naked body caged by long, pale limbs, enveloped in enticing pheromones. Cocooned from the world around them, a world that didn’t deserve to look at the beautiful handiwork that was Sherlock’s Omega.

And was he ever beautiful. Perhaps not traditionally so, with his scars and slightly weathered features, but in Sherlock’s eyes, that only enhanced it and rendered him a much more interesting specimen.

What made him absolutely, positively delectable at the moment were the pheromones pouring off of John in turn, signalling that he was in Heat. That he was so very ready to take all that Sherlock had to give him and the Alpha was going to give him everything and more. He’d make sure that the Omega was brimming over with his seed and incapable of not having conceived by the end, that a bonding bite bloomed bright and brilliant, leaving no one in doubt just who he belonged to.

The body beneath him trembled and moaned, the sheen of sweat covering his skin just begging to be licked off. He lowered his hips slowly, pressing his hardened cock into that of the shorter man’s, then slipping lower and pushing slowly but insistently at the waiting entrance that beckoned to him.

Something was wrong. It wasn’t giving.

The scent coming off the Omega told him, told his instincts, that the Heat was well and truly underway and that he should be sliding into that heat without any trouble whatsoever.

Another thrust yielded the exact same result, however. He sniffed. Something was off about the heavenly scent. It had a distinct note of distress.

Looking down, he saw that what he had taken for trails of sweat running down soft cheeks were instead trails of tears. The Omega didn’t say anything but if you took the time to look, the distress was abundantly evident.

Frowning and with a sick feeling to his stomach, Sherlock nudged at the side of John’s face until the blond opened his eyes to look at him. Pain, misery, and shame shone in them.

This wasn’t right and not because of the Heat. John shouldn’t look like that, for any reason. His Omega was brave and strong. He’d served and come out of it alive, made sure that others came out of it alive, too. He’d handled becoming a keeper and had taken care of everyone, once again. He’d handled an Alpha in Rut with no trouble and a great deal of compassion.

He shouldn’t feel miserable and he most decidedly had no reason to be ashamed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m broken. I know and I’m sorry, I should have told you, you deserve better – “

And he certainly shouldn’t be apologizing with an air of pleading desperation. He shouldn’t be apologizing _at all_ , but that was another matter.

It was only at this point that he realized he must be asleep and therefore dreaming. How had he not noticed that before? He normally noticed, when he even dreamed, which wasn’t often. Preoccupied, perhaps? Irrelevant, in the circumstances.

“You’re not broken, John.” He spoke the words softly into the ear of the other. Even if this John wasn’t the real one – and that in itself was something of a relief because it tore his heart to shreds to think of his John like this, miserable and ashamed, and even more so when he, Sherlock, was the cause – he deserved to know that he had nothing to feel horrible for. Nothing at all.

“But my Heat isn’t…it doesn’t…not since…”

“I know.” His voice was exceedingly gentle.

Was he just saying that to reassure John? Himself? Did it even matter, when it was a dream? But the knowledge seemed to go beyond that somehow, to tie into knowledge from the real world, so…maybe? John speaking again distracted him.

“And you deserve a proper Omega, not…not...”

Sherlock silenced the imagined-John with a kiss, a much softer and more tender one than they’d ever shared in real life.

“I don’t care what I deserve.” _Because what I deserve is to be without one at all._ “What I _want_ is you. The real you.”

For the first time, John smiled. It was nothing like the smile in the photograph and yet…it was unmistakably him, utterly daft as that was to say.

A hand came up to caress the Alpha’s cheek in turn. “You don’t _know_ the real me. What you think you know is a phantasm, constructed out of bits and pieces. They don’t make up a person.”

“They’re a start. I’ll find you and then…” He stopped, unsure of how to continue.

“Then we’ll take it from there.”

“I don’t want to…to mess it up,” Sherlock confessed quietly, only the knowledge that he was within the confines of his own mind allowing him to say it out loud, as it were. “I want you to want _me_. Not the Alpha or just because I’ll be the one to get you out of there.”

John didn’t answer. How could he? It was a question Sherlock didn’t have an answer to himself, and as this John was nothing but a figment of his imagination, he couldn’t provide it.

But he hadn’t the answer to the rest, either, so that didn’t tally, either…

 

* * *

 

Sherlock woke with a start in his chair. The sound of his phone hitting the floor was what had woken him. It had moved across his thin thigh because of vibration from someone calling him.

They didn’t stop.

Annoyed, he picked it up. What was so important that they had to call him at, he checked the time, a quarter to eight in the morning?

He didn’t recognize the number of the caller. Therefore, he snapped a “Hello?”

“He wants you showered, dressed and ready in twenty minutes,” came the voice on the other end.

Mycroft’s PA. That meant…meant…

“I need more time. I need to pick up some things.”

“You don’t have much time left, Sherlock.”

As though he needed reminding of that. They were just about on the edge of what the scent bond could manage – he’d done an awful lot of research while waiting for Mycroft’s lackeys and trying not to strangle them – without deteriorating the both of them, though it would like hit John the worst.

It was always the Omega who drew the short straw, sadly.

He stood up quickly. “Then you pick up the things for me,” he said, curtly. Then he rattled off the list of things he’d need, striding towards the bathroom as he did so.

He ended the call and quickly stripped, the process made only marginally more difficult by the erection his dream had gifted him. His cock throbbed as it was exposed but he ignored it.

No time for that now. His John needed him and that took priority above everything else.

He realized the shift he’d gone through with a start, then re-examined his thought. Really? Was he honestly that much under the spell of an Omega that everything else came second? An Omega that, when he was being honest with himself, he didn’t really know, apart from scattered, limited memories and some files on the man.

Him, the man who’d always had nothing but disdain for the rest of the population who let their baser nature rule them at every waking moment. He’d counted himself above those imbecilic sheep and yet, now…

But this wasn’t just any Omega. Regardless of how little he knew of him, he knew for a fact that John was very far from what was considered ‘normal’ for Omegas. He also knew that if he had to choose, he couldn’t have chosen better.

So, yes, he had. The odd thing wasn’t so much that realization as it was the relief and comfort it brought with it.

He had, and he felt fine. More than fine, to be honest, even as the worry gnawed. As long as John would agree to return with him, everything would be fine.

 

* * *

 

Someone knocked on John’s door. Familiar with his charges, as well as his…employees, he recognized the pattern and so shouted for the other to come in.

The one who poke his head in was Ben, though, not Ruby, as he had expected from the knock. She was probably hiding just behind him, though, having convinced him to do the confrontation for her. Ever since she’d told him about her predicament two days before, she’d been nervous about seeing him. Probably felt self-conscious after her confession, embarrassed by the implications.

Silly girl. She was taking the blame, the guilt for what was about to happen to her – he hadn’t told her anything about the email, both so as not to implicate her in what his actions might cause and not to get her hopes up unduly – when none of it was remotely her fault. Unless she ought to be blamed for having been born pretty, having been born an Omega. Which was an utterly ridiculous notion, though sadly not impossible to believe.

He ought to have been out to reassure her, some way or the other. The problem was, he wasn’t exactly feeling sterling himself, and wasn’t that an understatement, and so hadn’t felt up to the task of checking up on his charges, guilty as he felt for it.

It was really a wonder someone hadn’t come to check up on him before. At least the owners ought to have. They wanted everything sorted with as little input from them as possible, which in turn meant that John had to be the input. Consequently, taking time off wouldn’t be liked, to put it mildly. He would have to ask about that.

“What is it, Ben?” he asked, his voice weary. He was upright but that was about all he could say. He wasn’t dressed, at least in proper clothes, and he had the duvet around him, in a sadly rather futile attempt to get rid of the chill he felt in his bones.

He thought he knew what was the cause of the chill, or he at least strongly suspected it was that. It didn’t make it better. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The other man came more fully into the room. He had an odd expression on his face and was licking his lips. That made John pause. He might have suspected that sort of behaviour from ever-uncertain Ruby but not Ben. He’d always been rather down-to-earth and almost eerily pragmatic when it came to most matters in the harem.

“Out with it.”

After hesitating for another moment, Ben finally got to the point. “They…they want you dressed and ready in fifteen minutes. There’s a client here, now, saying she’s about to go into Rut and asking after you specifically.”

She. The momentary leap his heart gave turned into a dive. There was no way Sherlock Holmes could be mistaken for a woman, even an Alpha woman. Would he disguise himself as a woman, so he wouldn’t seem as familiar or conspicuous? No, the scent would expose him.

There was, of course, scent blockers of varying types and degrees. They were rarely used by Alphas, most of whom loved to broadcast their secondary gender to the world, but they were used, especially when they wanted to lure in an otherwise skittish Omega who reacted poorly to their scent.

That was how John had managed to scrounge up a bit. It had been left behind by one of the one-time Alpha visitors and had ended up in their stash of lost items. It was expired and meant for Alphas but for now, it did the trick for him, hiding the scent notes that informed he had, though unintentionally, scent bonded.

Even, then, though, he would just smell either less or not at all like an Alpha. He wouldn’t identify as a female one. Could you concoct a scent for the opposite primary gender? John didn’t know but he wouldn’t have thought so, at least.

But what other reason than it being Sherlock could there be for an Alpha to seek him out, specifically? Not that he hadn’t been requested before but that was some time ago, when there had been some novelty to him and to the concept of an older Omega who was ‘soaking up for it’, as they’d so eloquently used to put it, without the need of a Heat.

Now there were so many other people here who could fill roughly the same role, if not the specifics, the requests for him had dwindled into the occasional Alpha who liked to try something different and wasn’t put off, as most were, by the perceived lack of scent or the stretch marks.

_Sherlock didn’t mind the stretch marks, quite the opposite,_ his unhelpful mind piped up to inform him. Now wasn’t the time. It wasn’t going to be Sherlock asking for him so there was no point in thinking about him. It would only make it harder to do his…his job, as it were.

Still, the question remained. Why him, now? His last request had been over a year previous and had ultimately ended with a baby that had been forcibly taken from him…

No, not going there, either. Even thinking of his little girl, so tiny and perfect, made everything inside of him seize up and squeeze painfully. If he was to do his job, he couldn’t afford to think about any of that. A miserable, sobbing Omega wasn’t on anyone’s list of turn-ons…unless they were the one to cause it, of course. That was always an option.

All of this passed through his mind quickly, and so he could answer before they got worried. “Right. Okay. Could someone then please find me the best set of clothes I have while I go get showered, then?”

He untangled himself from the duvet and put his feet onto the floor with no issue. When he stood up and put weight onto his feet, however, he found his world swaying and had to fight to stay upright.

“John, I don’t think you ought to go. You don’t look too well.”

_No shit_ , John didn’t say out loud, though he was tempted to. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve been requested, I go. End of.”

“But you always say that when we aren’t feeling well, then we shouldn’t do it.” It was Ruby, poking her head in, too, a worried look deepening when she saw him.

John smiled, but without much humour. “And who do you think takes the wrap for that? To make sure you’re all treated as nicely as possible, given the circumstances?”

It wasn’t a fair comment to make, he knew that, but he didn’t feel well enough at that moment, physically or mentally, to refrain from it. Not that he didn’t feel slightly guilty, regardless.

He ignored their expressions and, willing his body to obey him, limped over to the chest of drawers that held his clothes. Very few actual pieces of furniture had been included in the rather hasty move and he hadn’t had time to take more than a few sets of clothes with him, stuffed into a makeshift knapsack. A lot had been left behind, and he couldn’t help feeling that among them, there’d been something…important.

But it also meant that there weren’t much clothes to choose from. He made do with what he had after taking a quick sniff at himself, both to make sure he could forego the bath, as there wasn’t time, and that he didn’t smell of scent bonds or anything else.

He dressed quickly, efficiently, ignoring the continued sense of queasiness.

“Do you want to borrow some aroma?” Ben asked, ever pragmatic.

Aroma was a slang term for the specific type of perfume that brought out the most appealing notes in an Omega’s scent. Even for John, who was believed not to have any scent, it should make him smell more appealing.

For a moment, he considered it. Then he dismissed it; if the Alpha woman had requested him specifically, she would have seen him before. Regardless of whether she’d been close to him, she’d then be aware of his lack of scent. Suddenly smelling of something was as likely to draw frowns as smiles.

No, thanks all the same,” he said over his shoulder. He was about to turn around when he had to grab hold of the still-open drawer to prevent himself from falling as his knees buckled.

It shouldn’t happen this suddenly. Happen it would, eventually, he knew that, but this he hadn’t expected at all. Why had it been so slow and then abruptly escalated? Why now?

“John!”

“I’m… _fine,”_ he croaked. Taking a few deep breaths, he got a modicum of control of himself. For the moment, anyway.

Good grief, how was he to handle an Alpha in Rut when he had serious trouble just getting dressed.

“You’re quite obviously _not.”_

John paused. “No, I’m not,” he conceded, smiling weakly. “But they can’t know that I’m not. Can’t know the reason.”

“What reason?”

“Never mind. Could you two help me down to where they’ve put the Alpha, though? Might be just what I need to get myself back into order.” He purposefully, forcefully widened his smile into something much more confident.

He got two concerned looks for that comment, despite the smile. They didn’t say anything, though, possibly with the knowledge of the limited time rattling in the back of their minds. Ben held out an arm and John took it, without a word, while Ruby flitted about, gathering all that he might possibly need for the next few days.

He smiled inwardly. She’d make a sweet worry-wart of a mother someday, if she wanted to be. He’d make sure that it’d be her choice to make.

It was also in silence they made their way downstairs. Once they got to the entrance hall, though, the receptionist told them, without looking up from whatever she was doing on the computer, that the Alpha had requested to get a more secluded area, due to her…tendencies, as it was put. They didn’t need to be told what that meant.

John steeled himself as best his could. This was just about his luck, wasn’t it? To get requested for that sort of Alpha when he wasn’t feeling up to snuff, as it were. Under normal circumstances, he was probably the best one in the harem to do it, though, so it made sense. At least.

However, what it also meant was that they had to make their way down the wing of the mansion that had still to be kitted out with anything more than the absolute bare minimum, if even that. That, of course, was a good thing given the circumstances, but it also had the consequence that John couldn’t be heard and helped if anything went wrong.

“John, are you sure this is a good idea?” Ben said quietly as they walked down the hall in a greater or lesser state of disrepair.

“No, of course it bloody well isn’t!” He caught himself. “Sorry.”

Ben smiled a mostly humourless smile. “No worries.”

Eventually, they reached the door that they’d been told the Alpha was behind. John sniffed, then frowned. There were some pheromones and other scent notes to indicate a Rut, but they were nowhere near as strong as he would’ve expected them to be, given the description he’d been given.

Scent blockers? Possibly. Even for Alphas, going out into public fogged up with the smell of Rut, upcoming or not, on you was frowned upon. They’d be wise to have something on to dampen or mask it until they got to their destination. Then it’d take a while to taper off.

Even so, he paused before opening the door.

“Should we…should we stay with you?” Ruby asked, her voice very quiet. “When…”

“No.” He smiled and shook his head. “Thank you, no.”

_If they’ve put the Alpha this far away, there are associated risks I don’t want you anywhere near._

They still hesitated. Then they reluctantly left, with many backwards glances.

Drawing a deep breath to pull himself together. There was little point in checking his appearance. He’d never be picked by an Alpha for his looks, whether he was feeling well or not, so he might as well just get it over with.

Once he did open the door, however, he was in for a surprise. A very big one.

The woman on the bed sat quite calmly, tapping away at her phone without looking up.

The Alpha scent in the room, at least the part that said ‘Rut’ and came from her, was artificial. The rest came from the other person in there.

Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Sort of? I can't tell anymore...  
> I also can't tell whether this must have seemed like a let-down after all the wait. I tried having Sherlock just sweep in there, knowing where it was, but that didn't work and I liked having John be a bigger part of the rescue, I tried. :)  
> I hope you aren't too disappointed and will do my best to get the last chapter out sooner.


	6. Meeting, overthinking, worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting each other again isn't just a case of rushing into each other's arms and snogging until everything is better. That doesn't mean there's no chemistry and nothing to deal with, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the absolutely wonderful and lovely comments on the last chapter, and even more so for the understanding! It means so much to me. <3  
> I...have a bit of a sad announcement, in so much that this isn't going to be the last chapter, after all. I won't now say how many chapters it's going to be until I've put the final full stop, yeah? But I'm sorry.

They stood staring at each other, the door clicking softly closed behind the Omega. Neither spoke but neither moved, either.

There was no doubting who it was. The cheekbones, the eyes, the whole stance gave him away, even if the distinct scent wasn’t a dead give-away on its own. Even so, John, quite frankly, couldn’t believe his eyes. If he’d allowed himself the privilege of even thinking that Sherlock might contact him, which he very pointedly _hadn’t_ , he would not have expected that this was the way he’d get in touch.

To be honest, when he had gotten no reply on the email, he had at first been angry; he’d written with a serious problem, the least the man could do was reply. Then he’d thought it might not have been interesting enough a case for the Alpha to pick, as he seemed to go for the most bizarre ones. A washed-up army doctor Omega and a young Omega girl about to be trapped in a horrible state was probably ten a penny when you were the world’s only ‘consulting detective’.

A small part of him had also taken it as confirmation that the man either didn’t remember about their…their time together, or, he did remember and didn’t care.

It hurt, there was no denying that. It hurt tremendously, more so than other disappointments ever had, but as he had been through it before, he knew what to do about it. Grin and bear it, as always. Life goes on, even if the life you lead is more of a zombie trance.

So, to have him there, in front of him, flesh and blood and looking even better than John remembered – which was a ludicrously sentimental notion but nevertheless true – was decidedly throwing him for a loop.

Something else struck him as they stood there.

He should’ve recognized the scent; both the fact that some of it belonged to his own Alpha, as he bloody well had taken on some of it, and that the Rut-part of it was artificial. Come to that, it ought to have been obvious to the people at the front to tell that the Rut scent was artificial. Or perhaps…perhaps it was only obvious to him because he knew it from his days as a doctor? That wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion, but still. It was rather high-grade, though, and probably took some prior experience with it to recognize it for what it was.

Another question was forcing itself to the forefront of his mind, however. Possibly not the most pertinent or urgent of questions, but the brain doesn’t always take the most direct route.

“The people at the desk said there was an Alpha female, in Rut,” he said, his eyes flickering briefly to the disinterested woman sitting on the bed. “Quite apart from the clearly artificial overtones to the Rut pheromones that they ought to have picked up on, someone would have definitely noticed if there was two ‘Alphas’ there instead of one. So, how did you get in?”

The addition of ‘with getting spotted by the much more extensive and efficient security measures they’ve set up around the entire house’ went unsaid.

Sherlock blinked, obviously not expecting _that_ be the first question, either. Then he smiled, a smile that could only be described as immensely proud and pleased.

The reaction only made the urge John had to rush forward and bury himself in the Alpha’s – not his Alpha’s, regardless of what his body and instincts kept insisting, he wasn’t _his_ – body, at least long enough to scent him properly, stronger, and it’d been bad enough to start with.

He held himself back, though how he managed it, he couldn’t say. Sheer force of will, possibly.

The Alpha, Sherlock, spoke, answering the question.

“Nobody remembers the servants,” he said, seeming to preen a little, even as his eyes raked up and down the Omega’s body. Was there an appreciative air to that look? Hardly. Purely wishful thinking.

John frowned, puzzled by the reply. Then it clicked. The servants had to move about in a large house such as this, as the servants’ quarters were well away from the main rooms. Fires still had to be lit and food had to be brought, however, and if you wanted to do that with the servants as unobtrusive, as unseen as possible, then they had to have some unseen way to get from one place to another.

“Passages beneath the house,” he said. “Nobody’s thought to check that.” That wasn’t within his remit; he looked after the harem, not security or the building itself.

“Of course not. People are idiots.”

The pale eyes travelled over his entire body again, and John would be lying if he said a shiver didn’t go through him, regardless of the reason.

He tried to calm himself down, to steel himself. This wasn’t two lovers seeing each other again, a bond pair finally being reunited. Well, it was, technically speaking, or at least it was on John’s side, which made it somewhat difficult to say whether it was or not.

That was the problem, really. Regardless of what he’d felt about Sherlock in the intervening time, about the scent bond that he believed to have developed, it had nothing to do with the man himself. The fact that he was standing here now, had more or less smuggled himself in, again, wasn’t conclusive in any way. It certainly didn’t automatically mean that it was because he wanted John as his Omega.

After all, he seemed perfectly composed right now, didn’t he? It really must have been the Rut speaking the last time, then, for him to react so strongly. This was a case, nothing more.

_Not like you’re rushing into his arms, either, is it? Why should he if you don’t?_

John firmly ignored that thought and stood his ground, waiting for the man to state why he was here this time.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock, for his part, was fully occupied with taking the Omega in.

Unlike John, his memories of their time together were still hazy and fractured. Furthermore, he had only photograph to go by and that was old and shot from, in the Alpha’s mind, too far a distance.

The point was, the amount of data he was suddenly handed by the man just standing there, straight and ready as was typical of a soldier with ingrained habits, was quite frankly as overwhelming as it was wonderful. His mind tried to take in anything and everything that his senses were sending back to him, greedy to take in the man he’d been searching for for so long.

One thing that they were all reporting was something that he almost missed at first, focused on drinking in as much as possible as he was. When he did cotton on, however, it hit like a lead ball in the pit of his stomach.

John looked terrible.

It wasn’t that he had faded since his army days, though there were some definite signs of time having passed evident on his face. In fact, he looked, in Sherlock’s admittedly biased opinion, better than he had then, the years having settled on him as experience and a sort of ease that only served to enhance his appeal. How he hadn’t been snatched up by a successful, influential Alpha who could appreciate a character to his Omega ages ago, Sherlock had absolutely no idea.

What was affecting him now, and something was quite evidently affecting him, had nothing to do with this innate appeal.

It wasn’t quite fair to say that he _looked_ terrible, really. Certainly, it wasn’t difficult to work out that something was amiss, given the pallor of skin, but it was far more accurate to say that he smelled terrible.

The scent that had so drawn him when he’d first found the Omega, the one he had started to crave more and more as time and their separation had gone on, was what proved tell-tale. Not that it wasn’t still alluring and, what was more, homely and _right_ , of course it was. But it had a new streak running through it that was as jarring and wrong as the screech of a bow across untuned strings, alerting Sherlock that he had arrived just in the nick of time.

What was the reason for it, though? He had to know. A dullard might have thought it was merely because their scents had begun to intermingle, as Mycroft and research had claimed with their scent bond. While that was part of the change he was picking up on, it had absolutely nothing to do with the wrong notes in there.

_Well, then, why don’t you go up and scent him properly? That’s far more efficient – or do you just prefer him to be a puzzle rather than a genuine person?_

He didn’t, of course he didn’t. Wasn’t the way he’d tried to make his flat as presentable as possible before he even knew when they’d be collecting John proof enough? He didn’t clean, and he most certainly didn’t do so because of someone else.

Why not touch him, then? His instincts, his entire body was screaming for him to do that, to bridge the laughably few steps separating them, envelop his Omega in his arms and inhale him to his heart’s content.

He couldn’t. If he did that, if he touched him, he felt absolutely and utterly certain that he would never, ever allow the man to leave his side ever again for more than what was absolutely necessary. While he was within his rights to order that from his bonded Omega, that felt so distinctly wrong on so many levels, both in terms of what Sherlock would do as part of his normal behaviour, even taking feelings into consideration, and what the Alpha side would accept, that it left him rooted to the spot.

On top of that, there was another reason; they couldn’t very well carry out the plan if John was plastered to his side and he’d growl and swipe at anyone who dared to even come close, never mind try to separate them.

But he longed. Oh, how he longed. It burned, with a fire that he hadn’t known it could, one that he would’ve scoffed at before all of this. For more reasons than just the instinctual or the fact that they had finally been reunited.

That note might have screeched across his senses but that didn’t entail that it was inherently entirely unpleasant to inhale. Quite a large part of it was lovely in its unexpectedness but that didn’t hide the fact that something was unquestionably and utterly wrong with it, compared to the scent that he knew so well by this point, which was only enhanced by the appearance of the man.

An appearance which he was maintaining through sheer force of will, Sherlock noted as took a moment to look closer. The immediate conclusion that he didn’t look terrible as much as smell terrible wasn’t completely off, but when examined, you could see at what points that was merely a façade.

_Oh, John. What’s wrong, my Omega? Why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?_ He couldn’t bring himself to dislike the choice of words.

The clue had to lie in the scent, though.

What was it? It was a scent note he’d never come across, so he was at the mercy of his instincts, and they were hardly the best honed ones in the world. It wasn’t made any easier by the fact that he couldn’t get a proper whiff from his position, however much he tried. How close could he get before he was not just not noticed but before he was so close that he could no longer control himself? Perhaps it would be better to ask, even if he wasn’t sure how to phrase it?

Before he could gather himself enough to as much as formulate a question, Anthea spoke.

“Best get on with it, Sherlock. You haven’t got long.”

“I _know_ that,” he snapped back at her, only just managing not to turn it into a snarl. Why had she had to come along with him, anyway? There was no reason for her to be there. He could control himself just fine. He could. He _could!_

John frowned as he looked between them, his posture not faltering. “You’ve got at least a few hours. The minimum you can book an Omega for is two hours and that’s without Rut being present.” His frown deepened. “How was the fake Rut scent not immediately detected on her? It’s not exactly subtle.”

The woman glanced up at him. “Because most people don’t use their sense of smell as they ought, and it’s easy enough to fool Betas, such as the woman at the desk. As for how many hours you’re booked for – “

“Doesn’t matter,” Sherlock interrupted. His eyes hadn’t left the blond. “We’re taking him with us, and we’re doing it now.”

* * *

 

John blinked. _Taking him? Taking him where?_

For a moment, his knees wobbled at the thought of his Alpha indeed having come for him. Then he forced them straight again, reminding himself that that wasn’t what Sherlock was here for. He was here to get them all out, not just John. He wasn’t special, and he shouldn’t put himself first.

_But you’ve got more immediate problems than even Ruby, don’t you? Even if you’re pretending nothing’s the matter with you, your body doesn’t agree at all and it’s going to collapse if you keep it up._

That wasn’t the point, though, was it?

The woman’s eyes lifted for only a moment. “Mycroft told you – “

“I don’t care what Mycroft said!” This time, he really did snarl. “He was not in possession of all the facts. None of us were.”

It caused no reaction in the Beta, but John blinked, more than a little taken aback. He had not been expecting that kind of, what appeared to be a rather unchecked, emotional response. That did in no way tally with what he’d researched about the man, outside of Rut.

 It didn’t matter, though. His charges were his priority.

Why did he have to keep telling himself that, exactly?

“Look,” he said, keeping his voice calm. Keeping it practical. “They expect me to be here at least the next few hours. If you need me to go get her, I think we are far enough away that I could get hold of Ruby without too much trouble.” At least, so he hoped. She couldn’t be that far away.

Sherlock looked at him, frowning in what seemed to be utter incomprehension. “Get hold of who?” he asked.

John’s brow furrowed in turn. He wasn’t really asking that, was he?

Again, it was the woman who answered. This time, she bothered raising her gaze from her phone to look straight at him. “We read your email, Mr. Watson, and we understand the dilemma. However, we cannot smuggle an entire harem out through the back door without the owners being any the wiser. This isn’t fiction.”

“I know that,” John said, his voice sharper than he’d intended. “I wasn’t asking you to re-enact a ruddy rescue scene from the movies. I was asking you,” and here he looked at Sherlock, “to help me get a poor girl who’s about to be pumped full of Heat-inducers, with the risk that she’ll become permanently catatonic, out of here without the owners ‘being any the wiser’. I thought at least the _challenge_ of that would be enough to entice Sherlock Holmes to consider. But perhaps I was _wrong_ , and you’re only here for the goods.”

His gaze hardened, and his tone became sharp at that last sentence.

Sherlock stared at him, looking for all the world as though he’d been slapped; the indignance was the largest emotion but underneath that, when you looked, there was unquestionable hurt in there.

A part of John felt slapped in turn, and it wasn’t exclusively the Omega part of him, either. He didn’t know his Alpha’s motives, didn’t know what the plan was at all, didn’t even know why he’d asked. So, who was he to assume and to pass judgement on him like that, without evidence?

Another part of him felt that he was in the right, though, because surely, he had been rather clear in what he’d asked for in that email. Why couldn’t the man be bothered to remember that ask if he’d taken the trouble to come all the way up here from London? Why did he have to sound so very dismissive about it, too? Why was it…why…couldn’t he…his thoughts were…

“John – !”

He heard the shout, saw the change in expression, which was puzzling. The blond couldn’t quite collect his thoughts enough to wonder why that was.

Then the room started to tilt and spin, his vision blurring. His knees buckled as they had before, but this time, he wasn’t able to bully them back into working. He’d been feeling that same chill he’d had back in his room ever since, but he’d ignored it. It seemed to intensify all at once.

As his knees buckled and refused to listen to him, he reached out blindly for something to steady himself on. He wasn’t going to bloody well succumb to something like that. Not now. Not here. Not in front of his Alpha.

His searching hand found something at last, and he grabbed it like a lifeline. Then he felt an arm come around his back, further supporting him as he fought to stay upright.

His nose picked up the scent that he’d been missing for so long, without realizing just how much, now just in front of him. It seemed to centre him somewhat and helped clearing his vision.

It cleared it enough to let him notice the downright panicked look in those pale eyes that had featured in more than one of his dreams, though there they’d been shining with lust and, in his more wishful dreams, love instead of panic.

“I’m alright,” he said, trying for reassuring. His voice came out somewhat more wobbly and unsteady than comforting, however.

“Quite obviously, you are not,” Sherlock replied, his eyes darting all over John’s face. Probably looking for clues or something. “Don’t lie to me.”

He would be alright, if he could just inhale that scent for a bit longer. Like the next hundred years or so. “Just give us…a moment…we need to…”

“Anthea, your phone!” the Alpha said, command in his voice. He had no free hand to hold out but somehow, he still got the gesture across. “Now!”

“Use your own.” Despite the calmness of the words, she wasn’t quite unaffected by the Alpha’s command. She suddenly sat straight upright and looked directly at him. Her hand with the phone in it was stationary, but only just.

“Mine is in my coat pocket and I can’t get at it right now!” There was a jerk of the head downwards.

_Odd,_ John managed to think, somewhat muzzily. _He could’ve just demanded it again, with more command in his voice. He has the voice for it as well as the scent. She’d be compelled, even as a Beta. Why bother explaining?_

Perhaps explaining was the way to go, however, as it seemed to do the trick. She rose, walked over and placed the phone in the hand of the arm that was around John without a word, staring at the Alpha the whole time. He grabbed it, equally silent.

“It’s already ringing,” she said, then went back to sit on the bed, seemingly just as disinterested as before.

Sherlock shifted John to lean against his chest instead of being supported by his arm, so that he could use his arm freely. John, who was still very woozy and unsteady to the point that he continued to cling to the arm he’d grabbed onto, wasn’t in any position to complain, though. Quite apart from being even closer to that wonderful, musky but rather unique scent.

Part of him realized what was going on, or at least, had something of an inkling of it. His thought was that the scent bond had reached the edge of its limit and had therefore started deteriorating him, in a sort of crazy example of self-preservation.

Without his scent bonded, he would, eventually, go mad. Utterly ‘round the bend, most likely, given the cases he’d been told about or had read about, which weren’t a lot, given that they happened relatively rarely, given how many Omegas and Alphas there were in the world. His body slowly starting to fail him didn’t seem much of a preferable option at first glance, but there was a, albeit twisted, sort of logic to it.

A genuinely injured Omega was more likely to awaken the protective instincts of the Alpha they’d scent bonded with, regardless of whatever else the Alpha felt about said Omega. They’d had enough of a connection, be it psychological or emotional, to establish a scent bond in the first place; to reawaken and play on those was to the benefit of the Omega, though unconsciously so, especially in the case that there was the fruit of a union.

At a somewhat slower rate, the same was true for the Alpha. It wasn’t only the Alpha who might not want that bond, after all, and while they were expected and evolved to protect the Omega, the Omega’s instinct to care for their Alpha was equally strong, and thus could strike out to ensure the ‘proper’ outcome.

So far, he’d only suspected, though strongly, that there was indeed a scent bond between the two of them. It was more than a little difficult to ascertain that for certain when they’d been so far apart. Now, though, up close like this, with his body collapsing and his nose working entirely on its own, the conclusion seemed much easier to draw.

He saw the Alpha put the phone to his ear, looking out in front of him, eyes narrowed as though in thought.

“Mycroft? Yes, I’m here. No, there was no _problems_ in getting in. I don’t care what you’re up to right now, we need to change the plan. Yes, I’m perfectly aware of the consequences. I don’t _care,_ Mycroft. The circumstances are different because the scent bond has started to deteriorate. We need to – “

He cut himself off when his wrist was grabbed. Pale eyes met steely blue.

Those same blue eyes that had grinned back at him from the photo, from his dreams. He had to swallow, quite involuntarily. Now really wasn’t the time, but…he was here. Finally here, in his arms, even if it was only because he’d have otherwise crashed to the floor. He had to make the most of it.

“That the one in charge of this?” John asked. His voice brooked no argument.

Nevertheless, Sherlock tried to argue. “John, it’s alright, don’t worry. We will – “

“I said, is that the one in charge?” John interrupted, voice even sharper. He straightened up with the help of the arm he had hold of and reached for the phone. Sherlock handed it to him without a word, his eyes intent on the shorter man.

“Hello? You the one in charge? Mycroft, is it?”

There was no hesitation on the other end. “Doctor Watson, how nice to finally hear your voice. Yes, I am indeed the one ‘in charge’, as you put it, and I can – “

“Good. If you can manage all this, find it in the first place, get these two in here, then I won’t believe for a minute that you aren’t capable of getting everyone out of here, too.”

“That is quite a significant operation, Doctor. You will have to be brought out without there being any claims that you were abducted unlawfully. That can be arranged for one or possibly two – cases of Alphas claiming what they see as theirs are neither uncommon nor prone to be lost by said Alpha – on a moment’s notice but not for an entire harem. Not without having laid some…groundwork first.”

That made sense, as practical and horrible as it was, but John wasn’t about to acknowledge it out loud. “You would leave the rest of them in here? Just because they can’t all be claimed by Sherlock?”

“I have no interest in claiming a harem,” Sherlock interjected, sounding disdainful. _I only have interest in claiming one Omega. If he’ll have me._

John ignored him. Or perhaps he didn’t hear him.

Mycroft gave a beleaguered sigh down the line. “No, of course not. You are not stupid, Doctor Watson, please don’t act like it. Their operations have been known to us for some time, but they have eluded us so far. Now it is within our grasp, with your help and that of…others, to dismantle their entire operation.”

He paused briefly. “My dear…brother refused to wait, however, and so he was sent on ahead.” There was that disapproval that only an older sibling could produce.

“Good job I was, too,” the Alpha muttered. His arm had gone back around the Omega, not only supporting him but pressing him in closer. That was probably a great factor in him being able to hear the conversation when the phone wasn’t on speaker, along with his good rather.

Mycroft seemed to have heard him through the speakers, as well. “Quite so. If you are indeed starting to deteriorate, which would hardly be unlikely, then it’s imperative that we – “

“No.”

There was silence in the room after that. The tone had been flat and, again, brooked no argument.

Sherlock looked down at him, blinking as though something didn’t compute.

“John, you can’t…”

“I _said_ , **no**.”

Sherlock’s brother, another Alpha judging by the imperiousness of the voice, was a lot less hesitant. “Doctor Watson, I am not in the mood for you to play the coy Omega damsel.”

John bridled instinctively. “Try calling me anything like that one more time,” he said, close to snarling, “and I swear I’ll find you and – “

“And what? What will you do? Exactly what can you, a scentless Omega consigned to a harem because you were to afraid to deal with the world – “

“Enough!”

It was Sherlock. His voice hadn’t risen but it had gotten that same snap of command that it’d had earlier. His expression was a little strange as he looked at the doctor, though; very much at odds with the tone of voice, it looked almost confused.

“We don’t have the time,” he tried to insist. Why was John being so obstinate? Couldn’t he see the severity of the situation?

“Doesn’t matter,” John said, cutting him off. He then turned his attention back to the phone. “Mycroft? You still there?” he asked.

“Indeed.”

“You are going to get all of us out of here? Without exception?”

“Doctor Watson – “

“ _Are you_?” The sharpness was back.

To his credit, Mycroft didn’t hesitate. “Yes. We plan to dismantle the entire harem and make sure that the people in internment are taken care of.”

He must’ve heard the Omega’s sharp intake of breath. “We don’t intend any harm to come to them, doctor. Quite the reverse. But as said, though we are working on it, it will be some time yet before everything has been put into position and we can proceed.”

“Some time? How long exactly is that?”

“At least a few hours though possibly not before dusk.” The implications were clear.

“Right.” Though he was still clutching the Alpha’s arm with one hand, not to mention pressed up against him, John seemed far more like a soldier receiving marching orders than an Omega being given instructions by an Alpha.

Sherlock felt himself preen at that and mentally tried to scold himself for it. That proved rather fruitless, however, but the momentary inattention almost made him miss what was said next.

“Okay. That is reasonable. I will stay here until you can bring reinforcements.”

“What? No!” Pale eyes widened then narrowed. “You are not – “he began, voice lowering.

“Sherlock, shut up!” the Omega snapped. “I’m a doctor as well as an Omega. I’ve handled far worse than you will ever know, okay? I know what’s going on and a few hours isn’t going to make a lot of difference.”

“It is if – “

”I wasn’t finished! It’s not going to make a whole lot of difference because you’ll be staying with me in those intervening hours. That proximity to you will halt the deterioration, even if it can’t stop it.”

“Agreed,” Mycroft said after a moment’s silence. “I…have to commend you, Doctor Watson, and I hope that my brother will be smart enough to listen to you, as well.”

There seemed to be a very grudging smidgeon of respect in the voice. “Now, hand the phone back over to Anthea.” Another pause. “Please.”

Sherlock took the phone before the woman could. He held it up to his ear but all he said was, “Mycroft.”

“I know, Sherlock,” was all that came as a reply. It seemed to be enough for them, somehow.

The woman, Anthea, then took the phone from him. She didn’t say anything, but the call went on for another few minutes.

By the end, she pocketed the phone and gave them only a brief glance afterwards.

“If you are sure, Sherlock,” she said, not even phrasing it like a question.

“I am,” he confirmed nevertheless, the hold on the blond tightening slightly. John probably should have protested but to be honest, he was more focused on what was going on between the Beta and the Alpha.

“Sure? Sure about what?” he asked.

“That she can leave without me.” He saw John’s questioning expression. “She, or rather Mycroft, is concerned whether I can be trusted to be near you without a chaperone.” There was a distinct sneering note in that last word.

John’s brow furrowed. _Why on earth couldn’t he be trusted near me? Surely, they don’t think that…he isn’t in Rut this time, there shouldn’t be any risk._

But the situation was different. Quite significantly different, even. For one thing, before this morning he hadn’t expected the scent bond to be as strong as it seemed to be. To be honest, he hadn’t been all too sure that was really the reason for his problems.

He was brought out of his thoughts by an attempt to move him.

“Oi, hang on. I can walk myself,” he protested, wrenching free. His body protested quite loudly, swaying.

Sherlock pulled him back, not quite into him again but enough that he was no longer in danger of falling. “You’ve been putting your body under unnecessary strain, for a lot longer than you’ll admit. You need to rest.”

“Still don’t need to drag me along like a recalcitrant toddler. A bit of support would do the trick, if you have to.”

And so, they made the short trip over to the bed. John noted that the Alpha kept on being right up beside him, even when they sat down. He didn’t need to, at least not when seated.

_So, perhaps he hasn’t just come for the challenge of getting an entire harem out from under the noses of its owner, hmm?_ The voice sounded decidedly smug.

He’s an Alpha who has some instinctual level connection to me because of the scent bond and the fact that we shared his Rut, John argued back. Of course, he’s going to be more intent on being close and protective in the circumstances.

He couldn’t quite deny that it was somewhat at odds with what he’d previously believed. Nor that it felt very nice. Nice was a severe understatement. Breathing in that smell, that wonderful smell that dwarfed his memory of it, was sheer heaven.

Trying to tell himself not to get swept up in a moment that’d be fleeting at best, he looked at the brunet, and met a puzzled expression.

“What?”

“Mycroft said you were scentless.” It was delivered half as a statement and half as an accusation.

John blinked. Were they really going to have that conversation right off the bat? Apparently so. On the other hand, if he was going to try and keep Sherlock as part of his life, as a friend, it was probably for the best that he knew such things at this stage. That John was anything but the ideal Omega.

That might also help crush straggling remnants of hope for more in the doctor’s heart, which was probably more important.

Taking a deep breath, he put on a smile and met the pale eyes. He was about to answer when he was interrupted.

“Mycroft was wrong.”

_Wait, what?_

“Ehm, no, he wasn’t,” the blond tried to correct. “My scent glands don’t work…well, they don’t work properly, not anymore, and what scent they do put out isn’t really detectable.”

Sherlock looked at him as though he’d just spewed utter nonsense. “Your scent is exceedingly detectable, not to mention very. It was what I followed to you in the first place.” 

* * *

 

As he stared at John’s look of surprise and disbelief, one thought went through his mind.

He’d been right. Once he got up close, once he touched the man, his Omega, he never wanted to let go of him. He had, because John clearly wasn’t on the same page on that score, and though he normally cared very little if at all about the opinions and feelings of others, he’d already learned that he cared about John’s opinions and feelings. He’d managed to summon up some of that self-control he always prided himself on, but even as he did, he could feel it fraying.

Nevertheless, he was scrambling and fighting to keep it; now that they were finally close, even if it wasn’t in the way he wanted it to be – not yet – he had to be careful not to jeopardize anything. To get in John’s good graces enough that he could even put forth his proposal for him to come and share his flat, share his life, let alone have it accepted, he’d have to prove that he could behave better than any of the Alphas that the Omega had previously had to deal with.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t at least take some enjoyment in the fact that he was finally near the one he’d been searching for and, quite honestly, missing for what felt a lot longer than actually was the case.

Another benefit to being that close was access to that scent in his nostrils. Apart from how good and _right_ it felt to have a fresh version of the scent he’d become so familiar with, he could now more clearly identify the odd notes that he hadn’t been able to when he’d stood further away.

The main part was related to the deterioration. He’d realized that, even if he hadn’t recognized it, as soon as he’d grabbed John to prevent him from collapsing, his instincts providing the information. It seemed to have receded ever so slightly in the time John had been close to him, which pleased both his Alpha instincts and his rational mind.

It wasn’t the only note in there that was different to the one he ‘knew’, however, though this other note was far more pleasant and…not encouraging, per se, but something along those lines. Whatever it was, it pleased his instincts even more, which puzzled him more than it irritated him.

All those things considered, the fact that John claimed he had no scent left him utterly baffled. Even more so when the blond looked puzzled at his claim that he had.

“You what?” John asked, frowning. “I thought that…I mean –  you were in Rut, you must’ve gone after anything smelling even remotely like an Omega, which the whole floor there did.”

“I wasn’t in Rut when I went in there,” Sherlock retorted, masking his surprise and hurt with indignation.

Surely John didn’t believe he’d just been after whatever piece of Omega he could find? Their time together was still rather hazy, frustratingly enough, but he felt sure he’d been obvious in his search. Perhaps he hadn’t been? Had he then uttered that most cliché of Alpha sentiments while in Rut? If only he could remember.

“That would be unprofessional.”

“Oh, yes, because it’s very professional to break into some place just for the sake of it.”

“It wasn’t for the sake of it, it was for a case! One of Mycroft’s – harems have never held any interest for me.”

John’s breath hitched only for a moment, but Sherlock noticed it, nevertheless, and it hit him that he had managed to put his foot right in it.

_Great going there, genius._

The knowledge that he’d at least realized it immediately and on his own, which was quite something for him, did very little to assuage his feeling of having failed.

What kind of case exactly?” John was asking, as though nothing had happened. When you looked closer, however, it was quite evident that he had indeed filed it away.

He had to remedy his blunder, somehow, and not make it bigger. The thought that he’d fallen in John’s estimation, even if he had almost nothing to go on, left a slightly unpleasant feeling in his stomach.

“Some information that proved vital in this case here. It’s not really that important.” He wasn’t about to tell John about the selling of Omegas and their babies. Chances were that he knew at least some of it already and, with the stretch marks that he remembered the blond sporting, the leap that he would have painful memories of such children, too, wasn’t that great.

What it did do was flare possession up the Alpha’s spine at the thought that others had impregnated what was his, but he ruthlessly quelled it. Now really wasn’t the time.

“Clearly it is if you were prepared to risk going into such a place merely for information.”

“I’ve been in much more dangerous situation than that,” Sherlock said, and his chest involuntarily puffed out a bit. As a former soldier, John would appreciate that, surely. Definitely so, when he was ready to risk incurring the wrath of the owners by contacting an Alpha like Sherlock, likely by some means that he wasn’t allowed to have.

“What, in your work as a consulting detective? How does that at all tally with a study on types of ash?” John asked.

He didn’t seem exactly bowled over. Then again, he wasn’t some doe-eyed young Omega that could be impressed with just anything. He’d been around and out in the world, been a doctor and a soldier. It would take quite a lot more to bowl him over, which was really as it should be. It was part of what made him so interesting.

That said, Sherlock couldn’t help blinking at the question. “You…read that?” he asked, not quite able to conceal his disbelief.

“Well, yes. A good deal of it, anyway. Don’t know whether I agree on everything but…” To be honest, at least half the reason he had was because it was something Sherlock had written, and he had so precious few other ways of getting to know something about him. “Shouldn’t I have?”

_Nobody ever bothers_. Sherlock didn’t voice this thought out loud, mostly so as not to alert John that most people didn’t seem to find his experiments interesting unless they proved useful to them somehow.

Instead, what he said was, “I’m glad to see that someone recognizes quality research.”

He might have sounded slightly haughty as he said it, or maybe there was something else entertaining in the sentence. Whatever the case, John gave what could only be described as an amused snort, his eyebrows rising as he looked at the taller man.

Then his expression sobered again. He paused, looked down and to the side, as though suddenly uncertain about something. The tip of a tongue peeked out to wet his lips, another clear sign of uncertainty when taken in conjunction with the averted eyes. Unequivocal if you bothered with even a cursory sniff.

_What on earth has him nervous so suddenly?_ Sherlock wondered, thrown by the sudden change. _Nothing has happened for him to suddenly be nervous about, so it must be some internal struggle. Which one could it –_

He was stopped by John looking up again, his jaw set, determination in his eyes attempting to mask that uncertainty. “Why are you here, Sherlock?” he asked, his voice quiet. “If you’re not interested in the harem, then really, why have you come?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger. :)  
> As you might be able to tell, things got away from me with regard to their feelings and worries but trying to cut it didn't help and felt wrong. That and there's a whole lot of explanation and things to get to, too, and I will not post a 15 or 20k chapter, because it doesn't flow, then, at least for me. That said, I'm truly sorry I haven't delivered an end yet, again.  
> I really hope you aren't too angry with me, that this worked even just a little, and that you will bear with me for a while yet, with the promise that I'll get it done and explained. Fingers crossed


	7. Together?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's about to get his answer but it takes another cockup for Sherlock to realize that the best strategy if he is to be allowed near his Omega might not to be a know-it-all but rather just be to lay his cards on the table. Will it, though?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I have to say thank you to everyone for your extremely kind words and your patience with me! You quite blew me away and I love you all for it. <3  
> Secondly, I know this has been over a month in the making. It was finished...and then the keyboard on my laptop broke (it's not the software, I've checked), so I couldn't get into it. I've managed to extract my files, so nothing's lost but I do not have access to writing on more at the moment. Not until I find the money for a new laptop. Really, truly sorry.

A part of John felt like kicking himself as soon as the words left his mouth. If he’d intended to voice it that directly, and he wasn’t at all sure that he had, why on earth hadn’t he waited until a later time? Perhaps  not until after he’d convinced Sherlock that they could, perhaps, be friends afterwards, or something that’d at least mean he could stay in the Alpha’s life? Or maybe never? Never sounded like a good plan.

Like this, the risk of Sherlock telling him outright that he’d only come for that challenge, or for simply the rare thrill of executing a rescue like this, for something that really had nothing to do with John was far, far greater. That he therefore had no interest in John himself beyond this encounter.

The thought that the scent bond granted him some ‘access’, as it were, was little comfort. He never had any intention of trapping Sherlock in any way, and most certainly not in a way that relied purely on a coincidence of biology. There had been cases of scent bonds being successfully broken. He felt rather sure of that, though he didn’t know for certain.

On the other hand, he’d spend so long worrying, speculating and berating himself, especially in the time between sending that email and Sherlock turning up like this, that he was wound tight enough to snap, regardless. Perhaps it was better to get it over with?

_Fucking hell, I don’t know. I can’t read his face and all I get from his scent is that sense of belonging, which is hardly helpful in the circumstances._

_Oh, for crying out loud! You wanted him here, you got him here. You knew what the consequences might be._

The voice sounded decisively derisive. _Whatever happens, you’re gonna be in an infinitely better position than you are in now. So, he might not find you that attractive when he’s not deep in Rut. It’s nothing you haven’t weathered before. As it is, he’s already treated you far better in the last half hour than any other Alpha has since you were shot, inside or outside the harem, and that’s without being in anything resembling Rut._

John couldn’t really argue with that, much as he wished to, and it would be better than this limbo he’d put himself in. Why was he wavering so, then? Why did he continue to flipflop on the issue?

_Take it like the soldier you are, not a whiny Omega! You’re more than your biology! Prove it to him but more importantly, prove it to yourself._

He took a deep though surreptitious breath – he felt certain his face had betrayed none of his internal debate – as he steeled himself. Whatever answer was forthcoming, he’d be ready to deal with it.

 

* * *

Sherlock blinked, the question making absolutely no sense. Why was he here? Was the doctor actually asking that question? Why would he be here if not for John? Surely that was plainly evident – he’d come to John specifically rather than stay with his brother, focusing on him rather than on this whole operation. He was all but pressing into him, for goodness’ sake, and his nose kept sniffing the air, that ought to be all the evidence he could want.

Before he could put that into words, however, some part of his brain was wise enough to pull him up short, to remind him to think with it instead of his instincts. To analyse what was in front of him and draw his conclusions from that instead of extrapolating from…more or less whole cloth.

John had squared his shoulders along with his jaw having set. His eyes were defiant yet wary as he stared at the brunet, his whole posture tightened. There was the smallest amount of perspiration peppering his brow and philtrum. All of these spoke of someone who was genuinely waiting for an answer that he was anticipating yet dreading, which didn’t tally at all with knowing why Sherlock had come.

The notion that he did know and was merely uncomfortable with the Alpha so close, dreading what he might do, was discarded as quickly as it surfaced. If that was the case, he would have been apprehensive right off the bat instead of it only truly coming to the fore now.

Besides, the scent coming from him told its own story, even if you had to decipher it beneath the notes he’d already smelled and identified.

John didn’t know why he had come, couldn’t guess it, and was therefore bracing himself for the worst without doing anything that might outright upset an Alpha. A part of Sherlock was hurt that John would think of him like that, while another and much smaller part was proud of his Omega. Not that John wasn’t worthy of being proud of; pride in association with submission to an Alpha wasn’t quite as clear and unproblematic.

Most of him, however, was occupied with the much more promising idea that if John had thought that he was there for the girl, was genuinely clueless, yet still harboured some sort of hope, as the anticipation and slight hurt in his eyes clearly said, then there might, just might be some hope for him, as well.

If that had been his focus, then convincing him to let Sherlock be part of his life afterwards might not be quite as difficult as previously thought.

A little buoyed by that, he realized that he also had to find a way to put it into words that John would believe. The trouble was, Sherlock wasn’t any good with that sort of thing, at least not when it came to his own life. When it was because he meant it.

That said, he had to find some way; the longer he waited, the greater the risk that John would draw his own, erroneous, conclusions from his silence. He only briefly considered mentioning the scent bond before dismissing it. That had nothing to do with them, except on a purely biological level, and for someone like John, being reminded of not being in control was hardly the wisest of choices, either.

On top of that, he had a suspicion that the Omega might not even be aware of the scent bond, in which case there was no reason to rock the boat prematurely. Not when the balance was already rather…precarious as it were.

“I’m…” he started, then paused and started again. “You think I’m here with some ulterior motive, though you haven’t quite settled on which one you believe most or perhaps the one you’d least like to be true. Whichever it is, I can reassure you on that score. I’m not.”

He got a thoroughly unimpressed and disbelieving look for his trouble, which was oddly enough a thing that reassured and…not precisely cheered him up, but certainly added a bit of fuel to the candle of hope. “Okay, yes. I do have ulterior motives, but not the ones you think.”

If he expected to be met with a more welcoming look for that, he was to be disappointed, however.

“Why are you here, Sherlock?” John repeated, now sounding weary and wary. He had tilted himself away from the Alpha instead of towards, as he had done earlier.

_Wrong tactic, he’s withdrawing. Think, Sherlock, think. You’re supposed to be cleverer than that._

_Perhaps, instead of being clever, you should try being honest._

“I’m here…because of you,” he said instead, bullying his body into staying still and not grab at the Omega, his Omega, attempting to pull away. “That’s my ulterior motive. To get to see you again, at whatever cost. I don’t…” _care about the harem,_ he wanted to say, but managed to swallow it in time, “…the harem is my brother’s concern, not mine. I...what I was interested in was _you_.”

“In getting to see me?” John asked, sounding rather suspicious, which logically, perhaps wasn’t surprising, really. That didn’t mean the Alpha instincts liked it.

“Well, now you have,” he continued, spreading out his arms. “Got a next step planned? Or was it just to confirm that your judgment was impaired due to Rut?”

That most definitely threw Sherlock for a loop. He’d explained that already. “What? No!” he snapped. “I already told you, I wasn’t in Rut!”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Do you really think me that stupid? That blind?” he more or less hissed. “Like I haven’t seen too many Alphas deep in the throes of Rut, and you were downright textbook! You were stinking the entire place up with pheromones from the moment you stepped into the garden room, for one thing, quite apart from your desperate need to get your knot buried in whatever Omega hole was nearest!”

“I wasn’t in Rut!” Sherlock nearly shouted, insistent. He was trying desperately not to let the feeling of rejection take hold while simultaneously keeping his body still. Somehow, he had to make the obstinate man understand, and it wouldn’t be done by shaking him or biting him.  “Not until I smelled _you._ I told you!”

“Me?” As if his words weren’t enough, John had the gall to look as incredulously disbelieving, too.

“Yes, you! I haven’t had a Rut in my life, and then I smelled you!” That practically spelled it out in neon, didn’t it?

That shut John up, briefly. “Still doesn’t change that your judgment was impaired,” he said, voice quiet.

“You are not that stupid. Do you really think that I would bother going through all of this, come all the way up to some godforsaken ruins of a stately home in _Scotland,_ just for a confirmation that I could come to just fine in my own flat?”

“Then why?”

“Oh, for crying out – “ And with that, Sherlock’s willpower crumbled.

He practically lunged forward, grabbing hold of the Omega’s upper arms in the process to keep him still so that he could kiss him.

And kiss him he did. Full-on, pressing his lips against the other’s firmly, unyieldingly before prying those lips open with his tongue in a way that could be called forcible. As he did, he took the opportunity to revel in the smell, the texture and, not least, the taste.

This, this was what he wanted. What he needed and had longed for. He needed more, though, much more. He needed everything that he could possibly get, and he would never let any of it go. Never –

He didn’t see the hand coming up before it connected, the heel of it colliding with his jaw in a way that was more designed to push him away than cause damage. That said, it connected with some force, an indication of the anger lying behind it.

If he was in any doubt, the anger was also clearly visible in the blue eyes when his head stopped spinning and he could look at him.

“Don’t!” John snarled. “Or I swear I’ll punch your lights out. Again.”

“You work in a harem.” The words were out of Sherlock’s mouth before he could stop them. What the hell was going on? He was normally never not in control of what came out of his mouth, even if it seemed like he didn’t care at times.

“That makes it alright, does it? Absolves you of any responsibility? Let’s just assault the Omega whenever we feel like it, eh, because he’s signed his rights away anyway, who cares what he thinks or feels about anything?”

“No, of course not!”

But there wasn’t much getting away from the fact that he had accused him of just that, even if it hadn’t been in so many words.

“Then what the buggering fuck? Is that just your way of solving problems? I thought you were supposed to be smart, not some Neanderthal thug of an Alpha!”

“I am!”

This was all wrong. So very, very wrong. How had it ended up like this? It shouldn’t have been like this. He hadn’t planned for it to go remotely like this.

Not that he expected John to swoon into his arms or anything like that. Alright, so he had, but that had had nothing to do with Sherlock, as such. But he had thought he’d be able to persuade him, convince him that Sherlock would be worth spending time with.

Instead, he’d buggered up royally by letting instincts rule. No, he couldn’t even blame it on that, if he was honest with himself, hard as that was. He’d just managed to screw it up all on his own.

How could he fix it? Could he fix it at all?

_Should you fix it?_ an inner voice asked, sounding much like Mycroft. _That’s probably the real question you should be asking yourself. If you can’t even do well with so long a time to prepare, how on earth would you ever have a hope to take proper care of an Omega on any sort of long-term basis? You’re not fit to be anyone’s Alpha, much less someone as interesting as John. Face it, you’re a freak that nobody would want, and you’ve just shown him that._

His chest constricted painfully as did his throat.

But he didn’t…he wasn’t…he wanted…

_Oh, yes, because it’s what you want that’s important, isn’t it? You’re not proving the point at all, no._

He swallowed. There was one thing he could do, to show that he realized his behaviour was wrong, or attempt to, at least. It was very likely it wouldn’t be seen that way, but that he would have to deal with.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet and slightly strangled. He didn’t look John in the eye; he couldn’t. “I never meant…this really isn’t my forte and I have made a mess of it. For that, I can only apologize.”

John blinked, a little thrown. “What isn’t your forte?” he asked, the anger in his eyes and voice fading into puzzlement, at least partially.

“Sentiment,” the Alpha replied, sounding about as defeated as he felt.

“Sentiment in regard to?” Was it good that the anger had faded even more? Hard to tell without other data points and he didn’t dare to speculate, in case he got it even more wrong.

“In this specific case, you. Only you, John. Ever since that time – “

“Oh, god,” the blond interrupted. “Alpha possessive streak, that’s why, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve come.” At the tone of voice, Sherlock’s head snapped up.

“No!” he exclaimed then immediately quietened his voice. “No. That’s not it.”

He got a thoroughly disbelieving look for his troubles. But John wasn’t yelling anymore, nor was he backing away. Those were positive signs. Maybe. He might still have buggered things up beyond repair but there was still no sense in rushing it.

“Well, not any more than can be ascribe to the inevitable amount for something Alphas like, at least,” he amended, looking up at John with what was, and he hoped to be received as, fervent honesty. He drew a deep breath, deciding while doing so that he would lay it all out. He might as well, at this point.

“Believe me, I’ve checked. And doublechecked, and reassessed, and gone over it again and again. All with the exact same result. I don’t ever remember feeling like this before, you see.” His lips twitched briefly in a humourless smile, then he lowered his gaze to look at…nothing, really, mostly because that suddenly seemed a whole lot easier.

“I don’t do…sentiment. Never…but I couldn’t…even though I don’t remember much from that time, and I have _tried_ so _hard_ to recall everything I could – I went through every piece of evidence left to me afterwards, though you were clever enough to get rid of most of it. You left finger-shaped bruises, though, and scent, too, caught in the underwear. Not much, but it…it was all I had and scenting you for the first time, outside of Rut…it was stuck in my nose. I couldn’t get it out of my nostrils.” Another smile, just as humourless as before but also edging on something else. “Not that I wanted to. Wanted it stuck in there forever by the end, even if it hindered my work. Even knowing how utterly stupid and _Alpha_ that sounded, sounds, wasn’t enough to stop.”

“Sherlock…” John said softly, his voice tinged with an unidentifiable muddle of emotions. He reached out a hand instinctively to touch but stopped himself before it made contact. However, he didn’t withdraw it.

The Alpha didn’t seem to have heard him, caught up as so many things came spilling out of him now that he’d opened the floodgate. “I’ve been searching for you ever since, every scrap of evidence left behind. Anything that might give me another piece to lead me back.”

At that, he looked back up with an almost audible snap, his pale eyes almost burning as he gazed at the Omega, _his_ Omega. He might never have him, but he might make him understand.

He saw John swallow and his eyes flicker. He saw the same emotions that had been in the blond’s voice reflected in his blue eyes. The Omega scent changed a little, too. But Sherlock, mind fizzling with all the clues he’d gathered as well as the overwhelming, crushing melting pot of panic, instincts and emotions, couldn’t sort the information, couldn’t parse and identify the individual parts and therefore, they were of no use to him.

“I didn’t do…I didn’t come here because of the rightness of saving people from an illegal harem,” he ploughed on. “Not because of some Alpha pride in saving all those poor Omegas or need to prove myself by pissing off powerful Alphas that have one stake or another in this place. Not even for the thrill of the case, however good it was.” He paused to draw another deep breath. “I didn’t want the chase, John, that’s the point. You wrote to my email, you must’ve – you said you had, you’ve read on my website. You know what I value.”

He reached out a hand, not noticing that it was minutely trembling, to grab the one John still had half-outstretched, gently, carefully. Hesitantly.

John let him.

He also nodded, as though Sherlock’s statement had been a question.

“I wanted what was at the end,” the brunet continued. “Not because you’re an Omega, not because you were in Heat or I was in Rut. Not even for the scent bond.” He didn’t notice that John tensed slightly at that term but didn’t seem shocked or even surprised by what wasn’t exactly a common occurrence, much less a commonly used term. “I found out everything I could about you because you interested me. As a person, and I just want to learn more.”

There was silence after that. To call it a pregnant pause would be a severe understatement and would also leave out the stark undertone of catharsis, emanating from both parties. It stretched and stretched between them, though neither looked away. Nor had either taken their hand back.

Eventually, John spoke. “And what happens when you’ve learned more?” he asked, voice quiet but not in any way meek. More gauging as well as quietly challenging. “When you’ve learned all of whatever is interesting about me?”

_Then I’ll know how to convince you to bond with me, properly and permanently, so that you’ll be only mine._ The thought flitted through Sherlock’s mind completely unbidden but not entirely unwelcome. He thought he managed not to let it show.

“Then I’ll start all over again,” he said, not so much calm as simply matter-of-fact. To be honest, instead of being put off by the prospect of getting to know everything, John therefore becoming boring, the thought that he’d some day might know everything filled him with what could only be termed deep contentment.

He started ever so slightly at that. He really was head over heels, wasn’t he? He must be, though he lacked any prior experience of it, so he couldn’t say.

“And after that?”

Sherlock blinked at that. “Why do you keep asking?” he questioned, genuinely puzzled. “Or rather, why do you assume that there’ll be a limited period to my interest? With all that I’ve just said, surely you can’t believe that there would – “

“Be a time limit?” John interrupted, a half-smile of self-deprecation quirking his lips. “I’m a battle-scarred, old, male Omega with no Heats who became the keeper of a harem to escape from…” He trailed off, leaving Sherlock to draw his own conclusions.

The conclusions he came to, he most certainly didn’t like.

Another silence followed.

“They’re not detractors, you know,” the Alpha finally said.

“What?”

“Those descriptors of yourself – which in any case are horribly insufficient in describing you – they aren’t detractors. Not to me.”

John snorted at that. “Pull the bleeding other one, mate, it’s got bells on. You must have Omegas falling over themselves for you, why would I be anything but novelty interest?”

Despite the words, there was the tiniest sliver of humour and, more importantly, hope to be traced in that voice. Something in the Alpha clung to it.

“Even if I had, I wouldn’t care. I have no interest in them at all.”

_Please see it, John. Please see that I’m not lying to you or just trying to sweettalk you. Please!_

His grip on the other’s hand was hard but John didn’t attempt to pull his hand away.

“Alright, fair enough, but that doesn’t translate into having an interest in me, as a person, not a secondary gender.”

“How do I convince you, then?”

John didn’t answer. At least, he didn’t do so straight away. However, he looked more contemplative than scared.

 

* * *

 

 

_This is it, Watson. He’s just about bared his heart to you and now he’s asking you outright. If you wanted some proof that he was interested in you, then you couldn’t have asked for more. The question is, have you the guts to actually go through with what you’ve wanted, then?_

_Of course, I do_ , he thought back, beyond annoyed with his own insecurities. His heartbeat had gone steadily up as Sherlock had spoken, each sentence fanning that sparking flame of hope inside his chest.

There was also the scent of the Alpha to consider. If John was worried he was being lied to, the undercurrents to that scent spoke of fear and panic, in a concentration not achievable by forcing it or consciously coaxing it out.

It seemed as though they’d both been plagued with insecurities rather than just the doctor, which soothed some of them for John, and if Sherlock could be open and honest and put himself out there like that, then of course John could, too.

He might not be a genius or an Alpha, but he hadn’t gone through warzones, gotten shot, had a miscarriage and had his baby taken from him to be unable to meet a situation when needed. He just wasn’t the sort to bare his soul in words, preferring actions instead.

So, he brought his free hand up, slowly and carefully, giving Sherlock ample time to pull away or otherwise indicate he didn’t want this. He got no such indications, and so he placed the palm of his hand against a cheek. Sherlock leaned into the contact as soon as it came, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the Omega’s face as he did so.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock saw John lick his lips, though whether out nervousness or something else wasn’t entirely clear. Sherlock tried not to follow the movement but as the gathered shards of his willpower was fully occupied keeping him still, if not calm, he wasn’t able to keep his eyes still, too.

When he looked back up, there was something else in those blue eyes. Something of that fire he’d seen in the photograph he’d memorized as well as scanned and copied, yet he’d held onto ever since he found it, nestled carefully in an inside coat pocket.

This was the John Watson he’d been perhaps not searching for, per se, but certainly the one he’d been hoping to find. The one hidden beneath the surface, the protective shell most likely cultivated through sheer necessity from living in the harem, with all that that entailed.

The _person_ that he’d seen, deduced, learned about and fallen for, not the façade. Not the Omega.

 

* * *

 

“This alright?” John said, voice just above a whisper.

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, hope strangling his voice, audible to and picked up on by the blond, whose own hope rose further.

He moved closer, noting that the Alpha was fairly vibrating with the effort to stay as still as possible. An effort to let John set the pace, which he noted and felt a stab of gratefulness for. It didn’t quell his heart hammering in staccato but nevertheless, he appreciated it.

As he was just about to make contact, he closed his eyes. It was quite involuntary, as he’d rather keep them open to gauge the reaction and savour the moment. On the other hand, it meant that he could concentrate more fully on the scent coming off the Alpha as well as the surprisingly soft, supple skin and flesh of the lips as he pressed his own against them. Something which he was anything but ungrateful for.

If he’d expected Sherlock to be hesitant about responding or remain passive, John was to be surprised. Not that he tried to press any sort of advantage, which was nothing like the norm for Alphas. He just, after a moment’s pause, pressed back with the same gentle force that the Omega was applying.

Copying him. Matching him. Equalling him.

Though they had kissed while Sherlock had been in Rut, closed-mouth and French – not mentioning the one Sherlock had very recently tried to force upon John – in many ways, this felt like their first kiss. It was the first that could be said to be entirely consensual for both parties, and the sensation of those cupid bow lips against his own without the need nor, it seemed, the expectation to have it deepen, at least immediately, was…almost revelatory, daftly overdramatic though that may sound.

Sherlock made a small noise at the back of his throat, seemingly quite involuntarily, that sounded just a little desperate. Despite that, he didn’t make any move, sudden or otherwise.

John felt a growing desire, possibly the same that’d made Sherlock make noise, to deepen the kiss. In fact, he longed to crawl the rest of the way into the Alpha’s lap and snog him senseless. He felt some of the same dizziness he’d felt when he’d almost collapsed but it felt…reversed, somehow? As though it came from a positive place rather than a negative one.

But that wasn’t what this kiss was about, was it?

When he pulled back and opened his eyes, Sherlock looked about as dazed as John felt. Their two scents were mixing somewhat, not to the extent they would if it was a traditional bond they shared nor with the same permanence. Still, it was undeniable that notes of a similar character were becoming steadily more so, the more time they spent close to each other.

That thought sent a shiver, a very pleasant one, up the doctor’s spine as he inhaled. He probably ought to tamp down on it, as it was still not a given that everything or even anything was going to pan out well.

The pale eyes were soft, though, as they looked at him, only a few inches away, and John let himself bask in the moment, trying to commit as much to memory as he could.

Sherlock opened his mouth, presumably to say something, but before he could, the vibrating buzz of a ringing phone filled the soundscape. It should’ve been entirely neutral, as it was only a piece of technology, but nevertheless, it had quite the impatient, yet persistent tone to it.

Looking more than a little annoyed, as the face twisted, the brunet pulled it out and held it up to his ear, his eyes never leaving John’s.

“Go away, Mycroft, I’m _busy!”_ he snarled into the speaker.

“Unless you’re busy with getting hold of the contracts,” came Mycroft’s voice on the other end, calm and audible due to proximity, “then I do not care about whatever you’re preoccupied with. It can wait.”

“It _can’t!”_

John had to admit, he shared that sentiment.

Mycroft sighed but it sounded more impatient and downright angry than merely exasperated this time. John frowned at that and looked at Sherlock. He got a minute shake of the head and a mouth twist he took to mean ‘later’, though he might be interpreting that slightly wrong.

“If you want any hope for your…what you wish for to come true, Sherlock, then you will comply with what I tell you to. Just this once, you’ll play ball to the letter, do you understand? For _all_ our sakes.”

There was an intake and outlet of breath that sounded like he was letting go of quite a lot, or at least was valiantly trying to. “We will be moving in, soon, but before that happens, I need to get hold of those contracts.”

“What?” John interjected. “Why do the contracts matter in all of this? Harems aren’t legal here; the contracts are only valid in the countries – “

“And that is where you all are, officially,” Mycroft said, tersely. “Working in those countries, for the legitimate businesses the owners hide behind. However, those contracts contain subclauses which, though very cleverly worded, essentially means the person in question is indebted to the owners and always will be. Slavery by another name.”

John frowned. A good deal of this he knew already. He wasn’t stupid. But he still didn’t quite see –

“The contracts aren’t legal here, either, John,” Sherlock said, guessing the blond’s line of thought, his attention on John rather than the phone, “you are right, but the owners are influential men and so are the ones the Omegas are sold to. Mycroft needs to tip the scales in his favour, to ensure that the bargaining chips they have left have as little power as possible. The contracts are a major part of that, unfortunately.”

“So, it’s not in any way a question of doing this legally?” John asked, the crease between his eyes deepening and the blue eyes became several shades steelier. “It’s not even really about the Omegas, is it? It’s just a massive game of Alpha-cock egos playing each other in the most interesting way possible, with a group of Omegas that are merely to be used as the bloody chips, right? Not even proper pawns, just objects to thrown into the stakes.”

His gaze had turned icy to the point of fire by this point. However, his voice was still relatively calm as he continued to look steadily at the Alpha sitting beside him. An Alpha who was doing his best, it had to be said, not to shrink under the glare, and not succeeded terribly well.

Mycroft could be heard clearing his throat through the phone. It wasn’t quite pointed but it was a close enough thing. “Your moral views, while extraordinarily laudable, are hardly relevant in the circumstances.”

“Hardly relevant – !“

_“In the current circumstances, Doctor Watson!”_ Mycroft interrupted sharply, the speakers screeching minutely at the unexpected rise in volume. Sherlock grimaced and gave the phone over to John, who took it without a word. “I have assured you that the Omegas will be taken care of. That will have to be an end of it, for the time being. Yes, the morality is hardly clear-cut, but that is how high politics work, which even you must be aware of.”

John growled through the phone. It was short and contained but all the more impactful for that.

Mycroft’s voice betrayed only a slight flicker afterwards. “Quite so. As said, now isn’t the time. If you want me to be able to get your…charges out, then you will help my brother with the acquisition of those contracts. Now – “

Another growl stopped him from ending the phone call. “I will make sure that every single one of them is properly looked after and cared for, even if I have to do it myself,” John said, the snap in his voice clear even though it was low and otherwise calm, “and so help me, if I find out that you have shipped any, _any_ of them off somewhere objectionable, or have done anything that could be deemed harmful to them in whatever shape or form, I will find you. I will track you down wherever you might be hiding, and I shall murder you, but not before I make you feel every ounce of hurt I can think of.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause after that little declaration. For a moment, John thought the man on the other end might have hung up on him. Then, “You’re a loss to the royal army, Doctor Watson, shoulder injury or not, and I can quite see why my…brother is so keen.” With that, he did cut the line.

John hadn’t been looking at Sherlock while he’d argued with his brother. Now he turned his gaze back up and was, quite frankly, not prepared for what he saw.

Sherlock was looking at him as though he’d grown two heads. That in itself wasn’t that unusual an occurrence, to be honest, but what made it different, and significantly so, was that nothing about it seemed negative. There was no look of horror or repulsion at an Omega threatening what was presumably another Alpha, nor was there any disapproval or look of disbelief.

Well, perhaps there was a smattering of disbelief, but it didn’t seem to be coupled with any of the other things. Instead, it was mixing with something that, though John would have to admit he wasn’t a hundred percent certain, closer to wonder, fascination and…pride? Really?

_Well, then, there’s another definite tick in the box, innit?_ The inner voice sounded decidedly smug, which admittedly wasn’t entirely undeserved, in the circumstances. Especially so when there appeared to be a slight rise in pheromones in the Alpha’s already lovely-smelling scent.

Even so, he couldn’t say that it _was_ definite, much as he genuinely wished to. Not yet. But it was most certainly something to stash away for later consideration.

Right now, there was the question of how he ought to act. He figured he shouldn’t act regretful for his actions, partly because of the Alpha’s reaction, though mainly because he didn’t feel regretful for it. At all. But what he had to consider was how this didn’t exactly tally with his previous behaviour.

Not that Sherlock had seen, at least. Well, not if you didn’t count the kiss…repelling, anyway. Not inconsistent with a soldier, really, but rather incongruous with an older Omega who’d presumably been around, if not necessarily in a harem, long enough to know his place, or at least know enough to give the impression of knowing it.

Though that was failing to take the fact of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective Alpha, in account, really, wasn’t it?

That said, John still hesitated momentarily. “Ehm, yeah,” he said, a tad awkwardly, though he kept eye contact. “Got a bit carried away, I suppose.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You what?” John asked, blinking.

“You didn’t,” Sherlock repeated, his tone sounding, of all things, just a bit delighted. One might even say thrilled. “You meant every single word you said. Your face and body were calm, your wording was clear and precise, without any stutter or other uncertainty, all of which suggests you’re not unused to threatening with violence, but only if the situation calls for it, since you didn’t start out with the threat.”

He paused, a smile starting to lift the corners of his mouth. “Then again, you were a soldier, which goes to explain quite a lot, at least in that regard. Especially when combined with the knowledge that acting like that against someone who plans to take the harem down is very unlikely to negatively affect you or your charges. At least, not in the way it would against the owners.”

John blinked again. He supposed that was true enough, though it wasn’t quite all of it. He found himself nodding, which caused the brunet’s smile to widen.

“If we get the contracts, it’s definite than none of the…the people here are going back to this place?” he asked, wanting the…not so much reassurance as firmer confirmation. It was quite the big gamble, not just for himself, and he needed to pull his head out of his slicked-up arse and _do_ something.

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, bluntly but honestly. “He’s a royal berk but if Mycroft commits to…assisting and openly acknowledges that he will do so, then he will. Whatever it might entail.”

That had undertones that John didn’t particularly like but from what he could see on the brunet’s face, the undertones wasn’t of Sherlock’s doing. He was merely parroting, slightly meanly, which fitted with the attitude of a brother. Younger brother, possibly?

In any case, that was neither here nor there. Not right now. Another thing to store away for later consideration. For later questioning.

“Right, then. Best go and help him, then, hadn’t we?” he said, speaking more cheerily than he felt. Find the contracts, I mean.”

Sherlock cocked his head slightly. “You know where – of course, you would. Dogsbody for most things, they think they’ve got you down and leashed properly, nothing to worry about. Safe. No risk in letting you know where the important documents are kept?”

John felt a stab of anger run through him at that. It was mostly instinctual, born out of the resentment against how Omegas were seen and treated. Against how _he’d_ been treated.

The pale eyes sparkled, which shut John up before he could voice anything.

“How utterly moronic they are,” he said, his smile stretching into an outright grin. “They have no idea who they’ve managed to get hold of, do they?”

With that, he almost sprang up into a standing position, dragging John up with him as he did so. The Omega swayed slightly at the sudden movement, as the effects of the scent bond deterioration had not just disappeared.

Sherlock noticed. He paused, eyes scanning the shorter body, though for what exactly, John couldn’t say.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“Will you trust me?”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock could see that the question took the Omega rather by surprise. To be honest, though, he was just the tiniest bit surprised, himself.

Because when you got right down to it, what exactly had he done that would in any way convince John to trust him, in general or in this particular circumstance? Even with the unspoken addendum of ‘as far as this goes’ to his question.

Then the Omega surprised him.

He nodded.

* * *

 

They were moving quickly but quietly through the building. Though they had yet to reach the parts that were generally occupied, and the cover story of the Omega taking care of an Alpha in Rut meant that no one would be looking for John yet, they would still have to be careful, just in case someone had unexpectedly decided to take a stroll through the unoccupied areas, for whatever reason.

Though John was the one who’d lived in the building and knew where the contracts were kept, it was Sherlock who lead the way. Despite that, he was keeping very close to the shorter man. Not so close as to come off as downright controlling or domineering but close enough that the Omega could feel the scent and warmth coming off the long body right in front of him, even through the wool of the coat.

It ought to be off-putting and grating, or at the very least annoying, but it wasn’t. In fact, it was helping to curtail the adverse effects of the scent bond deterioration to a fair degree, which made it decidedly worth it.

Well, that and the fact that Sherlock was grasping onto his hand, his grip tight, his hand warm and reassuring, didn’t exactly detract, either. He claimed it was to keep John steady and grounded should the dizziness return, which seemed a little overly cautious, but the blond didn’t want to correct him. It was nice, whatever the reason, and John had no complaints.

One downside was that it made it more difficult for the pair of them to make their way through the corridors.

Therefore, John was silently thankful, at least for the moment, that the nature of the clients they had meant that cameras were sparse, at best, and only in areas where there would be nothing suspicious about the ‘clients’ arriving or staying, for perfectly legal ‘social gatherings’ happening at the flats the mansion was officially being converted into. It made the traversal somewhat less tense, and that was disregarding the fact that the whole operation was about to come crashing down.

Technically, they could of course be an Omega getting an Alpha somewhere more…comfortable, letting the Alpha lead while giving instructions but John was a known shape, as it were, so it wouldn’t work. One might argue that it didn’t matter at all, seeing as they were indeed about to be rescued, all of them. Whatever anyone might see, or the cameras might capture, it would be irrelevant.

They’d discussed it, though, briefly, arriving at the valid point that since the rescue had yet to happen, it could potentially alert the owners to Sherlock’s presence beforehand and thus tip their hand prematurely, which could in turn jeopardize the rescue or, at least, hurt someone. Something which John was adamant would not happen.

It was a point also that Sherlock had managed to get in once before without getting captured but this was a bad time to be relying on lightning striking twice, as it were. John wouldn’t risk the safety of his charges just for a bit of a thrill, secret addiction to danger or not.

So, this was what they’d eventually agreed on.

They were almost to the room that held the contracts, when John thought he heard someone’s footsteps. He didn’t dismiss it out of hand but at first, he couldn’t place the direction. He concentrated.

A voice rang out just as he placed the steps, both coming from just behind them. He stiffened and stopped, letting go of Sherlock’s hand.

“Ah. I thought I recognized that scent,” the not unfamiliar voice said as John turned slowly, “even if it’s quite a lot stronger than last time. Hello, Johnny, long time no see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By gods, this was hard to write, and not just in trying to get them and the story right, though that proved a challenge as well, one which I am not a hundred percent certain I handled. I did try my best, going over and over it to see whether the voices and reactions worked, but then, I am probably not the best judge. In the end, this is how it ended up and I can't fix it in the foreseeable future, so I hope it'll tide you over alright.  
> Oh, well...it's long, at least, if nothing else. :) Also, for the lovers of them out there, another cliffhanger :)


	8. Unexpected confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alpha John had seen before makes his very unwelcome appearance. John stands his ground but isn't quite prepared for what said Alpha has to say. How will both he and Sherlock react? How will they deal, with themselves and each other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have to say, I am beyond touched by the support and belief and...everything you've been kind enough to send my way. It's really meant the world. Thank you! <3'  
> I feel like I've missed something but I can't remember what that might be. :S

The man coming towards them, at what could only be called a leisurely pace, hands in the pockets of his very obviously bespoke suit, was smiling. It was a smile that grew from the merest quirk of lips to something more closely resembling a grin, one stolen off a literary cat.

John felt more than he saw Sherlock turn around, too. He could detect a change in the Alpha’s scent when the other Alpha registered, though, and he most definitely felt the long body moving closer. It wasn’t enough to be classed as aggressively protective, perhaps, but protective it was.

“I must say, you don’t disappoint, John,” the man said, speaking calmly, though sounding amused. “I hoped you would contact your scent bonded, and you did.” He paused, cocking his head as he continued walking. “Or did he just follow the trail of breadcrumbs himself? Wouldn’t put it past him, though, seeing as of all people, you managed to snag the world’s only consulting detective.”

He stopped, not more than ten yards away. His smile vanished, dark eyes glinting. “Hello to you, too, Sherlock.”

Though he felt a strong urge to, John held his ground and didn’t turn around to see what Sherlock’s reaction to that, to put it mildly, rather unexpected acknowledgment. He thought he also managed not to show how…well, not outright shocked, per se, as it was almost modus operandi for the Alpha to show up when and where he wasn’t expected, but still startled at seeing him here at this precise moment. The coincidence was a little too great, given the circumstances.

It was also one of those moments where John could feel some gratefulness towards his meagre scent output, even given the new components denoting the scent bond that had gradually gotten stronger as time had gone by. Though the other Alpha knew of the scent bond, and possibly could have recognized the Alpha notes in them if he knew Sherlock, he was not close enough to pick up on those kinds of notes.

It should have been irrelevant but then he had to remember that this particular Alpha was not merely observant, possibly close to or even on par with Sherlock, he was unpredictable and threatening despite his stature, very little, if anything, was known about him among the harem ‘members’, and he might be one of the owners.

None of those things were in any way good on their own. Then, when you added them all together and stirred it with finding John in a part of the building the Omegas were not supposed to be in with an Alpha who hadn’t come in through the front gate, as it were, they made for a cocktail that stiffened the Omega’s muscles into high alert and left an acidic burn throughout his mouth.

John felt Sherlock move right up behind him but interestingly, he didn’t try to shove the blond behind him or otherwise physically prevent the other Alpha from getting near him.

Despite that, and the fact that he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head and therefore couldn’t see the brunet’s expression, John didn’t get the impression that Sherlock didn’t care whether the other man got near the former soldier or not. If that was the case, why would he have bothered to move right up close in the first place, never mind the almost subsonic, rumbling growl emanating from the long throat, possibly without conscious thought?

“Moriarty,” Sherlock acknowledged, his voice maintaining a smidgeon of the growl as he spoke, even though it was otherwise calm to the point of being dispassionate, which was an odd mix.

The other Alpha briefly looked what could only be described as mock-hurt. He raised his hand to his chest to accentuate that effect. “How cold, Sherlock. Not even first name basis? I thought we were closer than that. After all, we’ve had a few interesting times together over the years, haven’t we?”

He started walking again, though it could probably better be described as a mix between a saunter and a stride. It gave the impression that the unlikely pair in front of him was prey to be stalked. It made John tense up even further, though not in fear as an Omega of an Alpha who could overpower the weaker secondary gender and tear him apart, physically and mentally if he so chose. Not even like he had last time, warily awaiting just what exactly the man was going to do. Or not do, as the case may be.

Instead, he tensed as he would have during his army days, assessing the enemy and readying himself for whatever might come next, not afraid to take it on.

A very small voice inside John’s mind piped up to deliver the insight that Sherlock had been near him, right up close, in fact, and was, arguably, also a potentially dangerous presence, if for nothing else, then the fact that he was an Alpha, too, and had shown that his instincts could be rather volatile, as well, given the chance. Yet, the voice commented, he had not felt that kind of tenseness at any point in his interactions with the brunet, not even when he’d tried to force a kiss on him.

Well, they were scent bonded, it would make sense that…no, wait, that didn’t quite hold up, did it?

“Twice is once too many,” Sherlock answered, interrupting John’s line of thought.

“Oh, so you liked the first time, did you?” Moriarty almost cooed, eyebrows shooting upwards and his lips pursing. “Whatever did I do wrong?”

Sherlock didn’t answer, at least not verbally. Instead, he stepped even closer to John, so close that he was half an inch from being plastered to the Omega’s back. It was something that didn’t go unnoticed by John, nor, it seemed, Moriarty.

Dark, almost black eyes flashed as he took in the movement. “Or was it merely that I don’t have the right scent and the right parts? You seem awfully protective towards someone of a gender you’ve shown nothing but derision towards previously.” He flashed a bright, humourless, and slightly dangerous smile. “Then again, when you do deign to notice an Omega, you do manage to pick one of the most…intriguing specimens of that gender I have ever encountered. So interesting, so ripe… _so vulnerable.”_

He moved quickly, quite suddenly, until he was standing right in front of John, his scent and presence suddenly indicating danger far greater than one would might expect from a man, even an Alpha, of his stature.

Sherlock growled again, far more aggressively than before, and tried to move in front the blond, who for his part was having none of it. He instead tried to shield the Alpha, despite physical protestations, going so far as to move further in front of Moriarty, to put distance between the two Alphas, even if it meant putting himself closer to danger.

Moriarty chuckled and took a small step backwards. The sense of danger faded, at least to a degree, as his features calmed again. “Still the soldier, eh, John? Always ready to protect whatever little scrap of the world you’ve been handed, aren’t you? Tell me, has that ever really worked out for you?” One eyebrow rose, knowingly, as dark brown challenged steely blue.

John couldn’t help his mouth twitching a little as he felt unbidden bile rise in his throat at the comment.

So, the man, Moriarty, was aware of…what, exactly? John’s history? During his time at the harem? Before it? And how could John even know that he wasn’t merely deducing tiny parts and extrapolating the rest, if he wasn’t making it up out of whole cloth entirely or even just attempting to manipulate the doctor? Possibly just in order to get a rise out of him, something which he had yet to accomplish but had seemed pretty keen on almost since their first encounter.

Whatever the case, it would hardly be a smart move to give anything away. Well, more than the Alpha could already infer by sight and smell alone, which was likely not insignificant, given previous experience with him.

That assumption was confirmed when the second eyebrow joined the first after a long, slow, deliberate inhalation, close enough for him to pick up on John’s still relatively meagre output of scent and separate it out from the more pungent scent coming off Sherlock.

“Ah. I thought I remembered that, too.” His lips didn’t move but there was nevertheless the sense of a smirk lurking in his expression. “You really do have a skill for being more nuanced and unpredictable than you first appear, I have to give that to you.”

He paused, possibly for effect, possibly just because he was thinking. “I’m somewhat impressed you’ve been able to keep it secret, though, given how early they knew last…” he trailed off.

His eyes flickered upwards as he paused, the smirk slowly becoming visible on his lips. “You…Don’t tell me the great Sherlock Holmes doesn’t know?” he asked, delight in his voice.

At that, John did turn his head slightly, and saw Sherlock looking at the other Alpha, his expression of anger and contempt marred with a nonplussed frown that he couldn’t quite disguise, it seemed.

“Doesn’t know what?” he asked, his gaze shifting to John.

For his part, the Omega wanted to think that he didn’t know what was being referred to. It could only be one of two things, really, that would hold enough significance in relation to Sherlock and the time John had been in the harem, though, and the scent bond had already been mentioned, without the brunet reacting, so he could only feign so much ignorance.

A hand on his stomach, one that was soft and rather cool instead of broad, bony and calloused, jolted him out of his thoughts on how to break the…well, it wasn’t really news, was it? It was not yet past the time that he could lose it, so it was hardly solid ‘evidence’, as it were. He’d thought it best to keep it a secret, for that reason, and because he wasn’t sure how the Alpha would take the information.

To say that the hand was on his stomach wasn’t entirely true; it hovered mere millimetres from it, so close that it might as well be touching. It certainly caused the equivalent effect in John as though it did touch.

That effect was to snarl and grab at the wrist before he had time to think properly about what consequences doing so might entail.

Yes, there was going to be a rescue, and then it wouldn’t matter how he treated the Alpha, regardless of how it turned out between John and Sherlock. But then, that was still in the future and there was a risk that either they’d been lying and there was no rescue, or Moriarty, being indeed one of the owners, could still be potential danger, regardless of whether they were rescued or not. Even if he wasn’t an owner but just an Alpha with an ability to come and go as he pleased in highly illegal and therefore extremely clandestine organisation, that still applied.

All of those were painfully good reasons as to why it was a, to put it mildly, unwise idea to react, and especially react with more than words. The smart move was not to react at all, of course, but reacting exclusively verbally was better than physically.

Why John didn’t do that smart thing, then, he couldn’t quite explain, even afterwards. Perhaps he was just fed up; more than tired of having to endure people doing whatever the hell they felt like to his body? Perhaps the mere thought that he would get the Omegas under his care out of there, thus relieving him of the responsibility that was mainly responsible for keeping him there, apart from the contract, of course, was the clincher? Maybe it was a mix of the two.

Or maybe, it was because the mere thought of harm coming to what he carried filling him with absolute and utter dread and horror. Once was enough. More than enough.

Whichever of the three, if not all of them, was the cause, it happened. What was more, his snarl held words.

“Don’t. Touch. It.”

For a moment, the dark brown eyes flashed again as they narrowed, the face otherwise entirely impassive. The hand to which the wrist John was holding belonged twitched.

“Don’t test me, Johnny boy,” Moriarty said, his voice deadly calm, at least on the surface. “You’re amusing, yes, but I really wouldn’t advice doing that. That is boring, and I don’t like boring. You can ask your darling Alpha what happens when I find things boring. But perhaps he wants to spare you that? Let me tell you, then.”

He moved closer still, so that his mouth was level with John’s ear. “When I get bored,” he started to whisper, “ _people **die**!” _ The last word rose so high in volume so suddenly that it screeched in John’s ear.

He pulled his hand free at that, with little effort despite the blond’s not inconsiderable grip.

Though comprehending quite clearly now that whatever Moriarty was, it wasn’t an idle threat, partly through feeling, if not smelling, Sherlock tensing up behind him, John wasn’t ready to back down entirely. His stance had shifted into the stance that correlated with his mental shift into soldier earlier, his head tilted upwards in silent defiance.

He didn’t say anything out loud, though, which seemed to amuse the man.

Moriarty gave him another glance, then looked back up at Sherlock. “How’s big brother doing?” he inquired as though it was perfectly normal to do so in the circumstances. Just a bit of polite questioning.

“You tell me.” Sherlock’s voice was still mostly calm, as though he wasn’t at all affected. His scent gave him away, though, at least to John, standing as close as he did. “Thought you liked playing at the big boys’ table. More chances to get bitten and all.” He flashed an entirely insincere smile.

The other Alpha took a step backwards, lips quirking as he stuffed his hands in his pockets again. “We can’t all be playing Poirot, Sherlock, though I admit the thought of you with a fussy little moustache seems slightly amusing.”

He made to turn but glanced over at John again and stopped. “I do so look forward to the celebration, Johnny boy, I hope you won’t forget the invitations – oh, and if you’re after the contracts that dear big brother so wants to get his hands on, I’d advise you to go up a floor.”

He winked and then turned.

“Be seeing you!” he called as he sauntered away. Neither John nor Sherlock made any move towards following him.

Instead, John felt hands grabbing at him, one gripping his arm while the other landed squarely on his stomach, rubbing at it in odd patterns.

A stray thought flashed through John’s mind at that gesture, a gesture he allowed because he had the wherewithal to recognize that Sherlock had been shaken, whether he’d ever admit it or not, and needed reassurance for more than one reason.

The Alpha, Moriarty, never touched him. Oh, he’d come close and he’d most definitely invaded John’s personal space on almost every occasion he’d encountered him, but he’d never gone beyond that, probably quite deliberately so. If John had to hazard a guess, he’d say it likely did more to mess with the person in question than genuinely touching them. That or he didn’t want to get his hands dirty, of course, or a combination.

Whatever it was, it certainly did the trick and he could, as he closed his eyes briefly, admit to himself that it felt good and likely just as reassuring to him to have Sherlock effectively embrace him, even if it was just for the moment.

The point of the matter, though, was that the arms touching him didn’t make him feel repulsed like Moriarty, or threatened, or even uncomfortable, even though they were both Alphas and he didn’t exactly have the highest opinion of that gender. Granted, part of it was more than likely because of the scent bond and the Omega’s own feelings coming into play. On the other hand, that hadn’t stopped him from pushing Sherlock away relatively forcibly when he’d attempted to force an unwanted kiss on him.

What was the real difference, then?

“John?” a baritone voice interrupted his thoughts. As strong and firm as the hands gripping him were, the voice was by contrast rather small and…hesitant wasn’t quite the proper word but it would have to do.

“Yeah?” he answered, reopening his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock was, to put it mildly, rather shocked by the turn of events, not to mention a little shaken.

Not so much by the appearance of Moriarty in itself. While the exact timing of his sudden materialization in this exact building was…not suspicious, per se, but perhaps opportune, in light of his previous dealings with both Holmes brothers, it wasn’t that surprising.

What was, though, was his knowledge of and seeming familiarity with John, something which sent an icy shard of fury, jealousy and possessiveness down the spine of the brunet despite his attempts to curtail it. The feeling wasn’t helped by the fact that he clearly knew things about John that Sherlock did not and could not, at least as of right then and there, deduce.

The largest and most influential component in his state of shock was the insinuation that John was actually, genuinely…was it an insinuation or was it too strong for that? Sherlock didn’t have any frame of reference for that sort of thing, so he couldn’t say. Nor could he be sure that that was indeed what they had both referred to.

It would make sense, however, given that it had specifically been the Omega’s stomach he’d almost touched, not to mention John’s reaction to that almost-touch. A reaction that was far too severe for it to have merely been a very hostile reaction to being touched without permission, something which wouldn’t have gone down well in this establishment, if it was that instinctual a reaction.

A half-remembered memory surfaced in his mind at that thought; an image of John’s abdomen, ‘marred’ with plenty of stretchmarks, long and relatively broad as the skin had been forced to expand further and faster than its natural elasticity allowed.

John hardly looked the type to have gained an extreme amount of fat and then have lost it again, not with his military background, and, given that he was an Omega, the growth of pregnancy fit far better, especially when coupled with his reaction to Moriarty touching his stomach.

Someone confined in a harem, even a keeper, would not have survived therein had they displayed that kind of hostile reaction towards an Alpha, and it didn’t tally with how determined yet resigned the blond had looked in the moment before he’d registered who was in the room he’d come to earlier. Sadly, Sherlock couldn’t use their first encounter as a point of comparison, as despite his continued and determined efforts, only snapshots and muddled impressions had surfaced.

But that meant…he’d been mentally shying away from it because it seemed so absurd, almost preposterously so. He’d believed John to have been in Heat – John’s continued protestations that he wasn’t Sherlock didn’t give much credence to, because it was one of the few things from that time he knew with absolute certainty – and the purpose of Heat, the main one, was indisputable, he’d have to admit.

That said, the mere possibility that he, Sherlock Holmes, would ever impregnate anyone was so beyond ludicrous that it hadn’t even entered his mind. Even Moriarty’s reaction on its own possibly wouldn’t have been enough to connect the dots, they were that laughably unbelievable. Throw in John’s behaviour, though…

Confronting it in his mind now was mainly to blame for his state.

_Not just a scent bond, you’ve gone and knocked him up,_ an inner voice said, putting it a bit crassly _. No wonder he’s wanted to get in touch and get out of here, with the knowledge that he’s been fertilized by an Alpha that wasn’t authorized by them, someone who wasn’t supposed to be there at all._

No. No, he wouldn’t be used like that. John wouldn’t use him like that. If he’d known he’d been impregnated, and evidently, he had, and had been unwilling to keep it, then a harem would be the best qualified to know how to dispose of an unwanted foetus, surely?

He felt an involuntary but strong shudder run through him at that and knew it was his instincts fiercely protesting even the thought of harm coming to his child.

But that was the point – his child! He wasn’t fit to be a father.

_Not fit to be a bond mate, either, though, are you?_ The inner voice was sniping in its tone. _Regardless of what you might be able to persuade yourself and John, you really have no business trying to snare an Omega for yourself, do you?_

He’d been down that road before but the knowledge that it wasn’t just the two of them, that there would be a tiny little human being that he wouldn’t have the foggiest on how to raise and would ruin, sent his thoughts careening down that same hallway in his Mind Palace at a frightening speed, threatening to end in an almighty and spectacular collision.

John grabbing the hand Sherlock had placed on his stomach and squeezing it was somehow enough to jolt him out of it, at least sufficiently that he could focus on what was right in front of him.

Like the fact that he’d asked John a question and he hadn’t the faintest notion whether he’d been given an answer or not.

Blinking, he tried to look for clues in the doctor’s face, but it was frustratingly, and possibly purposefully opaque. Though…that was a clue on its own, really, as was the fact that John had elected to squeeze his hand rather than focus on providing an answer.

John seemed to study him in turn, which was interesting. Then he sighed, presumably at what he saw there, and averted his gaze.

Sherlock frowned. “John?” he queried, hoping for a more tangible clue.

“You just answered part of why I didn’t tell you, Sherlock,” he said, his voice exceedingly neutral, to the point that it worried the Alpha. “The sheer panic radiating from you right now is palpable.”

“It’s not.” He knew it was, because how could it be otherwise, but the answer fell from his lips unprompted, as a sort of kneejerk reaction.

John snorted, sounding entirely unamused. “It is. Don’t worry about it, though, it doesn’t matter.”

_Oh, okay, then he could…wait, hang on! Doesn’t matter? Of course, it_ matters _. It changes so much, so of course it matters!_

The Omega pulled free at that, or at least tried to. Sherlock, in turn, tried to prevent him moving, despite his first-hand knowledge of how John felt being forced or even attempted forced.

“It matters, John.” That got the man to look at him, snapping the head up, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “It matters, because it’s…” he trailed off as he struggled to find the right words, not wanting to mess it up further but without any clue as to how he ought to formulate it.

John sighed and looked away again, as though the pause was all the evidence he needed.

“Let’s just find the damn contracts, shall we? We don’t have much time left, so best get on with it,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. He succeeded in pulling free then and began to walk in the direction they had been headed.

He’d only gone a few yards before he heard Sherlock calling, “John, wait.” He halted, for which Sherlock was glad. However, he didn’t turn around, and the brunet wasn’t going to force him to.

“You think I’m panicking because I don’t want the child, don’t you?” he asked, watching the Omega’s back as it tensed at that, visible even through the…not quite tatty clothes but certainly ones that had seen too much wear and didn’t at all fit anymore.

A stray, completely irrelevant but nevertheless rather satisfying thought that skipped and skidded through his mind was buying John a whole new wardrobe once he got him out of there. Something which wasn’t merely practical, as the former soldier would appreciate, but fit him and fit him…well.

_Now bloody well isn’t the time for that!_

He opened his mouth to continue but John held up a hand, palm flat in a halting gesture. The shoulders moved, indicating that he was taking deep, calming breaths.

A few moments went by with no movement, then John turned back around slowly. “Can we…not do this?” he asked, his impassive mask having faltered for the moment to reveal the conflicting emotions playing out underneath, all of them underpinned by that steely determination that was so core to the man. His scent was very little help, being an equally muddled mess.

“You’re pregnant. That’s not going to go away, not unless you choose to terminate it.” Bile rose in Sherlock’s throat at having to utter that sentence and wasn’t that a peculiar concept, given that he hadn’t ever wanted offspring.

He forged on. “Which, I have to say, I sincerely hope you don’t. Whether or not you wanted me not to find out is a matter for another time, but we need to ‘do this’ at some point.”

“ _Not right now.”_ There was both threat and plead threaded through those three words.

“No,” Sherlock agreed after looking John over one more time. Despite the tone and the steel in those eyes, there was something else there, too, that fragile but still present hope and trust, something which the Alpha clung to, had to hope for and believe in in turn.

_See how astonishingly well you do?_ the inner voice mocked. _You throw him for a loop every time he might just begin to believe that you could possibly be worth trusting, be worth his time, never mind his bond. He’d be mad to trust you._

_Shut up! Just shut up!_ Sherlock screamed back internally, thoroughly fed up. _I know, okay? I know I’ll screw it up, later if not sooner, but at least give me the chance! Let me try. Just this once, let me have it, even if it isn’t for very long._

The last sentence was small, broken, and a little desperate, sounding like a child pleading to have something irreparable fixed somehow.

“No,” he repeated, trying not to betray the turmoil of his inner thoughts. “But…later? After this? I’m willing to listen, John.” _More than that._ “Whatever you might…Please?”

He saw John’s throat work but also that he nodded, once, eyes firmly fixed on Sherlock’s face as he did so.

A moment of silence followed, one where it seemed that neither of them knew how to move forward.

Then the Omega wet his lips, shifted on his feet and then, of all things, managed a small smile.

“Shall we, then?” he asked.

More importantly than the words, though, at least in the Alpha’s eyes, was the hand that he held out as he spoke.

Sherlock, heart speeding up at the gesture, covered the distance between them in a few long strides, grabbing the hand when he reached it and squeezing it as he continued moving, John falling into step behind him immediately.

A small part, which likely stemmed from his Alpha instincts, beamed with pride, not so much at the fact that John followed orders, though they were unspoken, but that he _allowed_ Sherlock to take the lead, without asking questions but not appearing cowed or meek as he was led. He had _chosen_ this rather than going along with it because he had to.

He had indeed picked just about the best suited Omega for him. Now he ‘merely’ had to convince John Sherlock was his best suited Alpha.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft was waiting for his Beta PA as she finally arrived at where the car had been parked, an unobtrusive and inconspicuous distance from the building, so as not to attract undue attention before the rest of the assemblage of professionals moved in.

He didn’t look up from his phone as she slid into the seat beside him, however, a light frown marring his features as he assessed what was written on the screen, the text having only just arrived.

_Bumped into baby Holmes at the most unexpected place. Are you playing without me, Croftie? That’s not fair, is it?_

The number wasn’t visible but then again, it hardly needed to be.

He lifted his gaze to consider her impassive expression and demeanour, a desired trait in Betas cultivated into an unexpected but useful and versatile weapon by her, which was part of the reason he valued her so much. Only part, though.

“That Alpha scent really is most unbecoming on you,” he said, and she merely nodded. She’d get rid of it as soon as possible. Now wasn’t the time, however.

“We may not get the contracts in time,” she said.

Mycroft didn’t move but his scent soured ever so slightly at the information. “If he cannot concentrate on the job at hand, it might be best to separate them, temporarily.”

“He won’t let you.”

“No,” he conceded, “but his Omega will. Sherlock is concerned with John and John alone, but the doctor has his focus on his charges, first and foremost, even before his own wellbeing.”

He straightened up. “Doctor Watson was a soldier. He understands that personal is not the same as important.”

Not that he was particularly keen on separating them. To be honest, he would prefer not to have to do so at all, even temporarily, knowing not only how much it would upset his brother but that it could prove another strain on the already burdened scent bond, on top of the tension already heaped on it by their prolonged separation.

That was the main reason he would have to prioritize the mission, whatever he’d told his underlings and his peers. So, if Sherlock couldn’t concentrate and brought the whole extrication in danger, then Mycroft would have to play the part of the unflinching big brother who did the right thing, regardless of his sibling’s protests. It was for his own good in the long run, even if he’d refuse to see it that way.

There was no need to take such drastic measures just yet, though.

“Are we ready?” he asked, pocketing the phone without acknowledging the text with an answer.

He’d have to deal with that later, unfortunately, and would therefore have to hope it wouldn’t mean unpleasant consequences later, for him or for his brother and his Omega, that they couldn’t handle.

Even more unfortunately, that was almost certainly a fool’s hope and nothing more. However, it would solve nothing to think about it now – or at least, to dedicate the entirety of his mental faculties to it. It would have to be put on the mental backburner.

Informing Sherlock of this, of the precise extent of the man’s involvement, was also necessary, for both their sakes as well as their relationship, but likely to cause as many problems as the man himself.

“Almost everything’s in position, sir,” Anthea said, her voice breaking through his thoughts. “There is another hour until dusk, which should be enough time.” The implications of what that might encompass were rather clear.

“Good,” he said, shifting his grip on his umbrella. “Let’s get this business sorted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this hasn't been a let down (yeah, I know, broken record, it's still genuine). I am still without a working computer but since you were all so kind and sweet, when I saw a chance to borrow a friend's computer for a few days, I did and wrote like mad to get this chapter written (I think they might have looked at me a little funny when they caught a glimpse of what I was writing, ahem).  
> That might explain a possible slackening of quality and definitely the shorter length, but I hope the content makes up for it, at least to some degree. And the fact that you haven't had to wait another month, too.  
> Moriarty is fun to write still but I can tell it's been a while since last I've done it. As for the others...well, I tried. Do I get points for that? :) No?


	9. Contracts, stepping up to the plate, becoming a team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John locate the contracts at last but with their discovery come other revelations and questions that might alter things, and that's before John gets to meet his new sort-of brother-in-law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You really are the best, guys, thank you! For the sweet feedback, for the understanding and...everything, just really. Helped me carry on with writing this ever-ballooning monster, seriously! Hopefully it's been worth the wait. :)

The room containing the contracts didn’t look the part, as it were, once they finally found it, which, incidentally, was where John thought, or rather remembered, it was rather than the directions provided by Moriarty. It looked like a perfectly ordinary room, of course bearing in mind the type of building they were in, without anything to distinguish it from any of the others along the hallway. Then again, that was likely the point, to prevent the documents from being easily detectable.

Given that the move had been conducted in such a hurry and the subsequent move into the new building had happened in an equal amount of haste, even more so than had been the case on the previous occasions when John had experienced the sudden relocation of the harem, things that should have been carefully taken and then stored equally carefully had…not been, at least not when it came to putting them away.

Oh, they hadn’t been as daft as to hand the documents, any documents, to any of the Omegas or Betas in the harem, John included, not quite. However, due care as to who saw what wasn’t as strictly adhered to as it normally was, as procedure dictated, and so John had caught a glimpse of people carrying those documents into the room.

Of course, they could’ve been moved in the meantime but seeing as none of the owners had been since the move, he had deemed it highly unlikely, and he had been proven right, as he had guided Sherlock there.

As they had moved the rest of the way, John’s head had spun slightly with thoughts. Not so much about Moriarty and what it had meant that he and Sherlock clearly knew each other, or even what might happen later on. Those were factors, yes, most definitely, but what occupied most of his thoughts was something else.

Sherlock knew but more importantly than that, he…didn’t mind? Or at least, he claimed that the panic had nothing to do with not wanting the child. That seemed debatable, to say the least, as why else would an Alpha panic about learning that they have sired offspring? If the child was wanted, an Alpha would normally be beating his or her chest about the ‘achievement’ or whatever equivalent was socially acceptable in their time period and class structure.

Even the fact that Sherlock wasn’t the typical Alpha, something which he had known almost from the off, didn’t entirely manage to squash the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right with his reaction to the news. Nor did the knowledge that he was being rather ridiculous and unfairly prejudiced. It made him able to quell it but not entirely snuff it.

He blinked when he realized it was his instincts that were the cause of that nagging feeling; they knew how things were supposed to go, buoyed by past experiences as well, and now that things weren’t panning out, they had trouble coping with it.

It more than likely didn’t help, either, he realized in a sudden flash of insight, that he was pregnant, which not only brought out more hormones but pushed the instincts of his secondary gender to the fore, with a vengeance.

Idiot. Stupid, bloody idiot, why hadn’t he realized all of this before? He’d been through a pregnancy, for god’s sake, he ought to know these changes already.

_But you haven’t been through a scent bond at the same time, have you?_ His mind, for once, had an argument that was not only reasonable but could be said to be positive. _That’s a whole other kettle of fish, isn’t it? Especially considering that it’s been deteriorating. If that isn’t going to enhance or rather play havoc with the instincts, I honestly don’t know what is, and that isn’t factoring in the spikes the pregnancy causes on its own. Factor all of that in and it’s a bloody wonder you haven’t started clinging to the man and trying to get his scent all over you. Well, more than it’s been embedded already by the scent bond, of course._

Once he managed to quell it – and push the thought of how utterly stupid he must seem to the Alpha out of his mind, mostly –  rationality could find its way through, carried on the shoulders of relief, elation and his previous somewhat eureka moment. Sherlock hadn’t run from him.

Yes, there was no getting away from the fact that the panic had been there, whatever the reason, but despite that, he’d…well, he’d stayed, hadn’t he? Not only that but he hadn’t attempted to put any sort of distance between them, either, which further strengthened the man’s argument.

As if that wasn’t enough, he’d wanted to discuss it afterwards. He’d even suggested it himself, without any prompting.

All of this served to make that flame of hope, which had flickered and waned only to flare up again and repeat the process a few times in the time he and Sherlock had been reunited, burn brighter and more strongly in his chest, promising a greater foothold in which to burn.

He wasn’t about to let it flicker again, let alone die.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock might be the one in front and the one to locate the contracts first, which had been placed in not even a particularly inventive spot this time around, but once he did, he tugged at the hand still in his to bring John forward, which earned him a puzzled look. One which grew when he put said hand up to the correct drawer in the cabinet and made a ‘well, go on, then’ gesture with his head.

“Sherlock, it’s your brother that wants the contracts, not me,” John said reasonably, not pulling at the drawer at all. “Why do you want me to open it?”

“Don’t you want it back?” the Alpha asked, his tone halfway between excited and puzzled.

“Want what – oh, my contract. No, not particularly.”

That sentence, along with the off-hand, almost dispassionate tone, lodged something behind Sherlock’s ribs, something unidentifiable yet hurtful.

That did not at all tally with what he knew about John, though admittedly that wasn’t as much as he could, but pointing that out was hardly going to win him any favours, was it?

“Why not?” was what he settled for asking.

“Why not? Because…well…” John paused as he looked at Sherlock for a moment then looked away. "Oh. You think I…it’s not really about the freedom, Sherlock. Not in relation to the contracts, anyway. I know what’s written in mine, I did read it before I signed it.”

A humourless smile passed over his face. “Didn’t exactly expect caretaker to mean keeper and effectively be a slave, but that was probably my mistake.”

He paused for a moment, breathing deeply before seeming to steel himself. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It _does_.” Of _course_ , it did, it was part of John’s history, part of his character.

Blue eyes slid back over to the brunet, head cocking at what Sherlock realized was a touch of vehemence in his voice. He meant it, though, vehemence included.

The thing behind his ribs loosened slightly at the small huff of a smile he got.

“Point is, though, in relation to the contracts, mine’s not the same as the others.”

“That doesn’t entail that it isn’t just as important,” Sherlock retorted, vehemence only strengthening. Why was John so intent on…not quite belittling himself, not outright, but certainly view himself as less important than the other Omegas in the harem? His Omega was just as worthy as any ten of them, and the Alpha would show him that.

It wasn’t just his Alpha instincts that possibility didn’t sit well with, either, and he could feel the anger simmering underneath his skin, impatient to break free. He wrestled it down; it would aide nothing to let it control him.

That control didn’t manage to extend to his scent, unfortunately. Of course, though some control could be exerted, it was almost impossibly to entirely be the master of that, even more so than your instincts, but even so, he was surprised.

John must have smelled it, too, but apart from a momentary tensing, he didn’t acknowledge it. Nor did he say anything about Sherlock’s outburst. Instead, he opened the drawer and started going through the folders there, pulling out some of them, while muttering under his breath things like ‘he was just…’, ‘been ages since she…’ and ‘why is this still here?’.

Sherlock stopped him almost immediately, hand on his arm. “We need all of them,” he said, “not just the ones who are still part of the harem.”

Mycroft had stressed, quite unnecessarily, the point of having as many bargaining chips as possible, which was especially important when it could be Omegas already sold, illegally, to influential people in the UK.

The rich and powerful, if they had more wealth than brain, which was rather boringly often the case, sometimes tried to pass the obtained Omegas off as secretaries or other menial jobs where they could have an eye on them at all times, keep them leashed while flaunting the eye candy they had purchased. Such people would not weather having those Omegas outed to the public well, nor were they clever enough to spar with Mycroft.

John raised his eyebrows at him for that. “And how exactly do you propose we carry all of those many folders out of here, just the two of us?” he asked. “Got pockets with secret TARDIS powers in that overly dramatic coat there?”

“Secret what?”

“TARDIS…oh, never mind,” he said when he still got a look of incomprehension. “The problem’s still there, though, if you want all these contracts. A lot of people have moved through this harem just in the time I’ve been here.”

_Which is quite a lot longer than you want me to think,_ Sherlock idly thought _. I know when you were honourably discharged, John, when your employment at the surgery afterwards came to an abrupt and unfair end. I even know when you fell of the grid, which is most probably around the time you came to sign the contract that has bound you here. The details, though…I hope that someday, you might tell me those yourself, of your own free will. That you will want to._

_Not at all likely, though, eh?_ came the inner voice, mocking again _. Arrogant Alpha freak who doesn’t have the slightest of clues and, oh yes, forced himself upon the man only a short while ago because he couldn’t keep himself in check? No reason not to trust that kind of person. It’d be a wonder that he hasn’t scarpered yet but then again, he needs to get his charges out of here, never mind that you’ve managed to knock him up. He likely would if he thought he could, given everything_.

Sherlock didn’t want to put any stock in what it said but he couldn’t deny that he had forced his kiss upon John. Neither was the fact that the blond had pushed him away and he hadn’t tried again much of consolation, really, despite his logical brain presenting the evidence to showcase that the Omega had reacted for more favourably than he could’ve hoped, even though he hadn’t been a pushover and meekly put up with it, either.

But although John hadn’t run, hadn’t even kept his distance, had in fact reacted as he had so fervently hoped for, or at least relatively so, it seemed he couldn’t stop the thoughts that had kept running at a subbasement level of the brunet’s Mind Palace since they happened, or even prevent them bubbling up such as now, it seemed.

“Sherlock?” John said, his tone questioning, possibly a little worried – or was that wishful thinking?

No answer.

“You okay? Sherlock? Hey now, stay with me, soldier!” John pressed, his tone now firm and unwavering, yet…still caring and concerned? Whatever it was, it, along with a hand on his shoulder, equally firm and assuring, was enough to drag Sherlock back out of his Mind Palace and into the here and now.

He blinked at John, his lovely face swimming into focus with a look of concern on it.

John, who was still here. John, who wasn’t looking to get this over with as soon as possible but was instead right beside him, touching him, asking him whether _he_ was okay, when it was clear that the doctor was still suffering from the effects of the deteriorated scent bond, however much it had been stalled by their reunion and continued close proximity.

He felt a laugh try to claw its way up his throat, one with a slightly hysterical edge to it, and a part of him wondered where all of this was coming from? He couldn’t remember being this uncertain, worried, and, well, _emotional_ , quite frankly, since…actually, he couldn’t remember that at all. He’d likely as not deleted it at some point.

Granted, he had gradually become more…emotional since his search for John had begun, he couldn’t deny that, but he was still somewhat floored and decidedly unprepared for the strength of it now. Was it because John seemed to reciprocate, at least to some extent, Moriarty suddenly turning up, the revelation of the baby, or something else? Maybe all of them together?

“Sherlock!”

The voice was now like a crackle of ice snapping and it did the trick of focusing him.

“‘m fine,” he said, or rather mumbled, trying to match his looks to his words.

The doctor wasn’t buying it, though, evident from his facial expression.

“Uh-huh. Dandy, yes, I can see that.” He paused as he looked at the pale face and his eyes softened. “Come on, we can do this, yeah? I know the deterioration is probably throwing you for a loop but we’re nearly there, now, if you just hold on a bit longer.”

Sherlock found himself nodding before he could bridle, the tone enough to elicit both in him. Then something struck him about the sentence that was odd.

Deterioration? Of the scent bond? But that was John who was suffering from that, not Sherlock. Why would he mention it in relation to Sherlock?

Then it hit him; the scent bond might in fact affect him, too. Not to say that he was suffering like the Omega was, not necessarily. The deterioration might cause a sort of drain on his side, too, pulling on and flaring up anything and everything inside of him that might prove useful in helping his Omega.

He wouldn’t call them exactly useful, however, quite the reverse, but that had probably more to do with an evolutionary benefit that had over time become disadvantageous, if not downright harmful, than anything else.

Hard on the heels of that realization came another, far more welcome one; John was taking care of him. Not in the nursing, almost smothering habit of a typical Omega, as neither the tone of voice nor the scent was right for that. No, this sounded more like a doctor, or even a friend, attempting to bolster the spirit of someone else, to keep them going and make sure they both made it.

One might argue that the difference was insignificant, and possibly this was so to anyone else, but to Sherlock, it was another piece of evidence that John wasn’t acting on instincts when dealing with the Alpha. Not purely, in any case, and what part was instincts…well, Sherlock wasn’t really in a position to point the finger, was he?

But…all of that then raised the question of whether all his emotions regarding John hinged on the scent bond and, subsequently, its deterioration? He dismissed the notion, firmly, vehemently, almost instinctually, as soon as it reared its head.

_No! That was a **lie**!_

He opened eyes he hadn’t been aware of closing when a hand slid to the back of his neck and gently pressed at it, encouraging him to tip his head forward. Doing so, he found his face guided into where John’s neck met his shoulder, his nose being pressed carefully into the precise area where the Omega’s scent gland was.

Into where that lovely, lovely scent that had led him to John in the first place was generated.

He almost melted when such a fresh and concentrated amount, rather than entered his nostrils unimpeded, a tiny whimper stuttering its way out rather than up through his throat.

Gods…how was John not inundated with suitors? Come to that, how was he not already bonded to an adoring Alpha that couldn’t keep their hands off him? Not only was he layered and interesting, his scent was…quite frankly, ambrosia for the nose, however flowery that description.

So caught up in the overwhelming and extremely welcome access to the source of the smell that had never entirely left his nose was he that it took him a few long moments to notice that it had another effect on him.

It stilled his thoughts. Not like it had when he’d involuntarily gone into Rut and his every rational thought had been replaced with lust and the scattered almost-thoughts that conjured. That had been a roaring blaze of sensations and wants sweeping his Mind Palace, threatening to incinerate it entirely nd leave his mind in that limbo of lust.

This, on the other hand…this was no blaze of fire out to destroy, it was water. It could so easily have been a tidal wave, too, as destructive as the fire, but instead it was the gentle falling of rain, or possibly snow, its quiet patter gradually muting and soothing the landscape around it.

“What’s that melody?” John’s voice was quiet, his tone warmly amused. Sherlock’s heart did a little skip.

“Hm?”

“That melody you’re humming. I think I recognize it, some of it, but I can’t place it beyond it being a piece of classical.”

After a mere moment to realize he was indeed humming and which one, he answered, “Firebird Suite. The 1919 version.” He didn’t even particularly like that piece, why on earth was he humming that one?

“Stravinsky?”

“Possibly. Don’t care.” He paused for another inhalation. “Why does this work so…?” he murmured, not truly aware that he was speaking aloud.

“Scent bond strengthening its ties,” John replied.

“What?” Sherlock raised his head but only as little as possible, to keep close to the neck. “No, that can’t be right. You smelled this good from the start, before we ever had sex, thus preceding the bond.”

It didn’t have quite the same effect, then, though, he would have to admit that.

“Scent bonds don’t work like regular bonds,” the blond said. “Trust me, I’m a doctor, I’ve seen them before.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve done research on it and it doesn’t fit into any of the parameters or scenarios studied.”

John snorted derisively. “No, of course not. Those studies are always conducted by Alphas, and Alphas who have quite set ideas of what the results of their studies ought to be, which is almost always nonsense. Have you ever experienced scent bonds?”’

“Not in person, no. Not before…this.” He pressed his nose harder into the soft flesh then slid it upwards, so it instead was his mouth that touched the gland, his lips caressing the spot ever so softly.

He felt the shudder run through the Omega at that as well as the hand on his neck tighten for just a moment, accompanied by a minute but heartfelt groan. Then, much to his frustration, John pulled away. He didn’t attempt to halt him, though.

“We…really don’t have time for that.”

“You had time to press my nose to it,” Sherlock argued back, but without much heat.

To be honest, he didn’t want to be doing it here. At all. He wanted John back in his flat, surrounded by his things, his scent. Surrounded by him. Ignoring the wishes of his instincts, though, he still wanted to do such things somewhere where they were on equal footing as well as somewhere they weren’t reminded of what went on in the building.

“Yeah, because you were clearly getting overwhelmed, from what looked like the scent bond,” John said, taking another step away, “and that’s a tried and tested way of getting people calmed down. The fact that the scents have mixed but a regular bond has yet to be established,” – and if Sherlock’s heart soared just the tiniest bit at that ‘yet’, what of it? – “means that scenting will soothe the parts of the mind and body that are slowly going round the bend from…well…”

He trailed off as he bent to find somewhere to store the contracts in, but then again, Sherlock hardly needed to have it explicated. The pause explained well enough, really, even if the fact that he was now much calmer and, what was more, feeling…not happier, per se, but…more optimistic? Yes, that probably covered it.

Instead, he helped locate a leftover sheet from before they’d moved in that could serve as a makeshift knapsack. Before they started stockpiling the relevant documents, though, he took the opportunity to grab John’s hand, careful to allow him time to back out of it should he wish to.

He didn’t go as far as squeezing it but he made sure to have the Omega’s attention before saying, quietly, “Thank you.”

“For…oh. For that. No problem.” He smiled, a brief but genuine and warm smile that made Sherlock’s heart give an irregular thump, regardless of how calm he otherwise was.

Gods…he really was besotted, wasn’t he? Well and truly, and it was completely unrelated to the scent bond and its effects. He would swear to that…which was another tick in the box for him being head over heels, really, wasn’t it?

They worked quickly and quietly, sorting through which were relevant and which weren’t, so that they’d have a realistic chance of carrying them all the way out of there.

Once packed and closed, they had a brief argument as to who would carry the not exactly lightweight burden. In the end, Sherlock let John win, and watched with what had to be termed pride as the former soldier hefted the knapsack with ease, then motioned for the Alpha to lead the way, as though it was the most natural thing.

 

* * *

 

 

Meeting Mycroft Holmes was…different than what John had expected. If pressed on the matter, he wasn’t entirely sure he could articulate what he had expected, only that this tall, relatively thin man in a three-piece suit with what looked, in the gathering dark, like ginger hair, a prominent yet sharp nose and even sharper eyes wasn’t it.

Well, he could say that, and that whatever vague image he had, it wasn’t exactly a favourable one. He put that down to the way Sherlock had spoken of him, mainly, and thought he ought to have dismissed it completely as sibling squabbling. He hadn’t quite been able to, though.

His opinion certainly wasn’t raised by how he was addressed when they reached the car in which he’d taken up temporary residence. Or rather, how he failed to be addressed.

The elder brother turned his attention directly to Sherlock from his seat in the back of the car. He gave his brother a cursory onceover that probably revealed more than others would glean from a half hour conversation. Or more.

“Mummy will expect a visit,” was all he ended up speaking out loud.

It seemed utterly incongruous, not to mention irrelevant, to the time and the situation. John, standing a little behind and to the side of Sherlock, makeshift knapsack with the contracts still over his shoulder, shot the brunet a frowning glance. It wasn’t acknowledged. Or rather, it was only acknowledged through the hand that had reached out to grab his at some point during their trek back and had only gotten tighter as they had moved.

John had honestly wondered a bit about that but had thought that it might be the tension of avoiding being discovered getting to him? That or the man had gotten more secure in touching him, which somehow seemed the more likely option.

What was more interesting to note, however, was Sherlock’s reaction to the words; a defensively annoyed streak that swirled into resignation.

“Yes, I know,” Sherlock conceded. “You went and blabbed to her already, I’m sure.”

The redhead slowly straightened up, managing to get out of the car in one movement that shouldn’t look as fluent as it did, and stood in front of his brother.

“She worries, even more than I do, Sherlock.” Why did that not sound all that convincing?

The younger Holmes glanced over at the Omega at that, his expression odd. Then he turned his attention back to his brother. “Fine. I’ll go. Not yet, though.” Was there a minute hint of pleading in the voice? Surely not?

At that, Mycroft slid his eyes over to John for the first time and the doctor straightened up instinctively under that cool, assessing gaze, meeting it squarely. He wasn’t going to flinch or otherwise be intimidated.

“No, not quite yet,” Mycroft agreed, voice and face cool and collected as he didn’t shift his focus.

Should John feel relieved at that or affronted? The comment was, he thought, evidently directed at him through Sherlock but to what purpose? Difficult to tell, if not downright impossible.

So, instead he stepped forward, hand still linked with Sherlock, and put down the knapsack, right in front of Mycroft. He was tempted, sorely tempted, to dump it directly on his undoubtedly expensive leather brogues just to prove a point but thought better of it at the last moment. It really wouldn’t be a smart move to antagonize the man primarily, if not entirely, responsible for getting his charges out safely.

“There you are, _sir_ ,” he said, voice clipped and precise, as it would’ve been to his commanding officer back in the day. “As requested, _sir._ All accounted for and presented with due care, _sir._ ”

However, he let the words drip with just enough sarcasm that it ought to be picked up on without so much that it’d land him in trouble. Over the years, he’d managed to almost perfect.

It earned him looks from both the Holmes brothers. The one he got from Mycroft was mildly…was it surprise? The raised eyebrow and slight pursing of the thin lips would suggest some degree of that, but the rest of the face didn’t exactly support that conclusion, so…though he suspected that getting any reaction out of the man, even such a relatively muted one, was a bit of an achievement.

What was more interesting, though, was the look Sherlock shot his way at the same time. It was also surprise but in there was also mixed pride, a strong hint of smugness and…was that lust? There was a dilation of his pupils, but surely that was merely because of the low light.

_Oh, give over, Watson, it’s beyond obvious that he wants you! Even if his words didn’t say it, his actions more than have throughout this whole reunion thing as has his ruddy scent. Are you being densely coy on purpose? Because it’s no longer all that cute, you know._

His body certainly reacted, regardless of his internal dialogue, his spine tingling as he had to shift. Hopefully it was minute enough not to attract attention in the low light.

“Thank you, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said out loud, drawing attention back on him, “Or should I rather say Captain?” He gave a pointed look at that, the rise of the eyebrow growing even more pronounced.

“Doctor will do. Sir.” _Not like I’m a captain anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to meekly accept a mister or no honorific at all, either._

“Well, then, Doctor, if you would care to step this way.” He indicated the seat in the car he’d just vacated, using the tip of his umbrella for emphasis.

John blinked, frowning as he pulled his head back slightly, eyes narrowing. “You what?”

Mycroft merely indicated more strongly with the umbrella.

“You’re…you’re taking the piss, right?” John asked, his incredulity overlaying anger starting to simmer, overriding his caution and sensible thinking. “Are you seriously trying to pack me off wherever you deem safe? Tucked out of the way so that I don’t go mucking the important things up here, is that it?”

“John…”

“No, shut up, Sherlock.” He took a step forward, a slow smile of disbelief spreading across his face as he continued looking at the older Holmes.

“You wouldn’t even be able to carry out this operation if it wasn’t for me. That’s right, isn’t it? Why else would you not have done anything until now? We’ve been in London for a few years now, you must have known about it, if you really are as high up in government as your brother claims, and I believe him. Can’t have been nice, having such a flagrant breaking of the law right under your nose…no, that’s not it, is it? It’s the peers flaunting their ill-gotten goods in front of everyone without a care that’s bothering you, not the legal stuff. But in any case, my contacting your brother was…rather fortuitous, huh?”

He thought he felt Sherlock stiffen a bit through their still linked hands.

“Merely an accelerant of a project already underway, at most.”

John snorted, still smiling. “Pull the bleeding other one. The crack-down on harems were hard when they were made illegal here. If you had any concrete knowledge, or at least some that didn’t come with ties to powerful Alphas capable of making hell, outside the domestic scene, too, you wouldn’t have let the harem continue. Hell, you wouldn’t have any use for the contracts, which you very obviously do.”

He bent to grab hold of the knapsack and pulled it back. Neither brother stopped him.

Mycroft did, however, shoot a glance over to Sherlock before switching his attention back to John. “We really do not have time for this, Doctor Watson. I will…acknowledge that your contact to Sherlock has proved the key to this…operation, and your contribution will be recognized in due time. Now, however – “

“John,” Sherlock interrupted as he stepped in between the two almost facing each other down, his focus firmly on the Omega, his voice insistent. “Perhaps it would be for the best if – “

“The hell, Sherlock? No!”

“John, listen. Listen!” The voice went from insistent to pleading. “I understand, I really do, and I want you there, too.”

“Then why the – “

“The scent bond is continuing its deterioration, even if it has temporarily halted or merely slowed down! Piling on the stress of such a situation could prove detrimental – ”

“I can manage it,” John said, a warning snap in his voice.

“Yes, right now, I’m not disputing that, not at all,” Sherlock argued back, ignoring the warning, “but for how _long_ can you manage it?! You’re a doctor, you must realize what the consequences can be if it suddenly escalates again.”

“I’ve got plenty of time yet.”

“Oh, and you know that, do you?” This time, the Alpha did snap. “You know that for absolute certain? Because if you miscalculate, even just a little bit, you risk collapsing where nobody will find you, at least not in time.”

John opened his mouth to argue, but Sherlock ploughed on before he could. “You’re not just putting yourself in danger by going back, but our…your charges, too.”

The slip of the tongue was barely noticeable, and the Omega hoped that only he picked up on it. If Mycroft had even the smallest clue that he was up the duff, he’d likely be forcibly be…but that was hinging on the theory that the older Holmes didn’t know already, which seemed unlikely. Still, he had to cling to it.

It had the added benefit of calming him a little, too, as his knee-jerk, reactionary response to being thought incapable in a situation on the mere basis of being a secondary gender traditionally perceived as weak faded in the face of his responsibilities, not only to his charges but to his…his…

_No, don’t think about that now. If you think about her now, you really won’t be in any position to help._

He refocused to find that Sherlock had cradled the hand he was holding in both of his, his big, bony hands warm and grounding. “John, please. I’m not doubting your capabilities, surely you must realize that? But this is your health, not your – “

“They’re going to be scared out of their wits if you,” John indicated Mycroft with his head, “go at it mobhanded, without anyone telling them what’s going on. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not,” the redhead replied. “The people going in are trained to deal with this sort of situation.”

John barked a short, unamused laugh at that. “Right. Just a pity the Omegas haven’t also been trained. They’re still on edge from the last time they were forcibly moved, do you really think they’re just going to meekly follow anyone just because they’re told to?”

“As you say, they have been moved before.”

“Yes, by people they _know_ , with orders from people they’ve learned to follow or suffer the consequences,” – _and if they haven’t, then I have, a good scapegoat not to damage their precious goods beyond repair_ – “and even then, it was a struggle to get everyone out. You go in without any prior warning, they’re not going to follow you.”

“And you can make the difference there, can you? Just you?”

John drew himself up even more at the tone, glaring at Mycroft over Sherlock’s shoulder. “Yes,” he said, confidently, almost challenging.

To be brutally honest, he wasn’t a hundred percent certain that he could, but it was a close enough, he felt, and regardless, he wasn’t in the mood to admit to anything else, not in front of someone who so very clearly doubted him.

Sherlock, meanwhile, had been uncharacteristically quiet. When John shifted his gaze, he noticed that the brunet had a faraway look in his eyes, visible even in the relative low light. They weren’t vacant, in the sense that nobody was there, it was more…like somebody had left the front parlour light on while they went upstairs in the dark.

As he watched, however, the Alpha seemed to surface, the pale eyes refocusing, contemplative as they looked at the Omega.

“We’re going together,” was what he finally said, which honestly wasn’t what John had expected him to say. He sounded decisive, however, as though the issue was settled with just those three words.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft started, using a tone that was very big-brotherly; warning, imploring, and demanding all at once.

“John is right, Mycroft,” Sherlock answered, without turning around to face his brother, “however loathe you might be to admit it. If we want this to go smoothly, we need someone who the Omegas trust, and you couldn’t find someone better suited for getting people out safely.”

John felt his heart do another odd little flip as his instincts preened at the praise even as his mind didn’t fully agree.

“You cannot be serious. Do you really want to risk the health of your Omega – “

“Of course not!” Sherlock snapped, head whipping around to glare at the other Alpha. “I want no harm to come to him, ever, and that is _exactly why he’s coming with me.”_

There was hard steel in his voice at the last part of the sentence, pure and simple as he wielded it. It didn’t even need the strong scent that accompanied it to do its job, and John felt a distinct desire to bare his neck in submission, though he managed to suppress it.

Even Mycroft seemed to notice. He frowned, nostrils flaring ever so briefly, and his own scent intensified. But then, he let his eyes linger, one brief moment on Sherlock, another on John. Then he gave a nod, short, tight, controlled.

Sherlock kept his head turned for another moment before he turned back to John. His eyes still harboured that steel, but it melted into something more akin to mercury or silver, just a lot warmer, when they turned to him.

If he was being honest with himself, John would have to admit he half-expected the Alpha to utter something along the lines of ‘are you sure?’, more due the inherent protectiveness towards what they considered theirs than any real belief that he wasn’t.

What he got instead was his hand slowly raised, still caught between the broad ones, until the back of it made contact with cupid bow lips, softly, almost reverentially, while all the while those pale, multi-coloured eyes looked up at him, not demanding, not beckoning, just…watching, warmth glowing in them.

It should’ve irked, this gesture so reminiscent of an Alpha courting a demure yet startled Omega, and yet…it didn’t.

It felt as though Sherlock was aware and was inviting him to play along, to join in his world, one for just the two of them.

“Are you ready?” was what he asked, words blowing across skin as he spoke.

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods...every time I feel like I can just press on and have us significantly closer to an end point, these two idiots start up and I have an entire chapter filled with them talking and thinking too much and not fucking moving. Well...you know what I mean.  
> That said, I loved writing them here, coming together, Mycroft too, - and does this qualify as BAMF John to those who were waiting for him? A little? I hoped this all rang true, characterwise, at least. I try. We have achieved something, though, I think. :D
> 
> I have a bit of money yet to find to afford a new computer but someone took pity on me and let me borrow a very old one of theirs for the remainder of the summer. So, we're betwixt-and-between, as it were, but I have worked very hard in the last week to get this written and I shall endeavour to make as much of this as possible, I promise. :)


	10. Gathering the harem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gathering of the Omegas and Betas of the harem begins. Sherlock and John learn more about working together as a unit and how to cope with how others see the other and 'them'. Outside forces make their mark on the rescue but will they prove too detrimental to the effort?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left feedback on the last chapter. It really did make the world of difference to receive. <3  
> This so got away from me in terms of words written but then again, that's hardly new for the story.

It was Ben they went to get first. Not only had he been a sort of second-in-command for John the time the younger Omega had been there, he held both popularity and authority over the others, which would be useful in getting them all out of there was as little fuss as possible.

If he was being honest, John did expect there to be at least some fuss, regardless of what he’d told Mycroft earlier. Not that that had been completely about grandstanding, of course not, or even mainly that. The fact of the matter, though, was that a group of people, not necessarily Omegas in particular, had something of a herd mentality, especially in a situation such as this. If one was spooked, it ran the risk of spreading through the rest.

To have one, or hopefully two, that could assure and comfort them in the situation might at least curb the worst of it and make them as safe as they possible could be, in the circumstances. That, really, was the important thing, more than any ‘fuss’ they might cause. Calling it ‘fuss’ was just the easiest way of describing it to the bunch of Beta and Alpha officers who Mycroft had insisted were to go with them, _if_ they insisted on doing this.

John wasn’t having the possibility that they’d just storm in, guns blazing, though, just because one of them thought that might get them ahead on the promotion ladder, handling someone big like this. Whether some Omegas got traumatized or otherwise hurt or damaged in the process, who cared?

One former army doctor did. One who wasn’t above utilizing the skills he’d gained through being a captain in said army. More particularly, an Omega Captain who’d had to deal with many an arse who thought themselves superior purely based on secondary gender and didn’t really believe that he’d actually made it to the rank of Captain. On his own, that is, without any…assistance.

_My, my, aren’t we feeling sure of ourselves all of a sudden? What, did it just take one Alpha believing in you and supporting you for you to actually have a backbone and courage again, instead of being pushed around by every Alpha you’ve come across? Isn’t that quite sad, not to mention dependent?_

No, of course it didn’t take just the one Alpha for him to be like that. Of course not, that would be ludicrous. It had nothing to do with Sherlock, at least in terms of his secondary gender. More, it was a case of nobody facing repercussions for his actions, neither him or his charges, which pushed him to…well, let his more natural personality and consequent behaviour resurface.

_You were downtrodden, admit it._

He was, he wouldn’t deny that, because that would be idiotic But, the downtrodden can get back up. They can flourish.

He could admit, though, that having an Alpha, not to mention one who was the brother of their employer, at his back probably helped things along as well, just the tiniest bit.

That didn’t mean, however, that he was prepared to have Sherlock go with him into Ben’s room. Not until he’d had a chance to explain things to the other without an Alpha looming behind him. Getting the brunet to understand it was quite a different matter and took quite a bit of time.

Eventually, they settled on Sherlock staying right outside the door, ‘keeping watch’, while John went in, shutting the door behind him quickly and firmly.

As Ben hadn’t gone to bed and was in fact sitting bolt upright on his bed, which was considerably more lavish than John’s utilitarian one, looking directly at the door, he still managed to spot the lanky form of the Alpha before the door closed.

“John!” he exclaimed as soon as he saw him. He leapt from the bed and rushed to envelop the other Omega.

"Hello, Ben,” John croaked. Where did all that strength come from? The man didn’t usually display that.

“John!” Ben repeated, pulling away a little to give the other Omega a critical once-over. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

It took the blond a moment to work out what on earth he was on about. Then it clicked.

“No. No, they didn’t,” he tried to reassure. “I’m alright.”

“Clearly, you aren’t,” Ben snorted with a meaningful look. “Are they sleeping now? Is that…no, I saw someone at the door with you, that can’t be it.” He frowned then something hit him, it seemed. “Is it…do you need me to help you out?”

To give Ben his due, that was not an unfair or irrational reasoning, once John stopped to think about it. If a member of the harem, for whatever reason, ended up having trouble satisfying the Alpha client, then they could ask for one of the others, if they were available, to help. It had to be done carefully and with the Alpha’s consent, though that rarely turned out to be a problem, if it was phrased correctly.

After all, most Alphas would consider it an immense ego boost that he was too much for one Omega to handle. It wasn’t that difficult to swing the persuasion in that direction.

“No. Really, no. In fact, I…things turned out rather differently than I expected.”

At Ben’s look of disbelieving incomprehension, John couldn’t help his snort. “Trust me, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. Let me explain…no, that’s going to take too long. Let me summarize.”

And so, he did, or tried to, at least. Turned out it wasn’t that easy to summarize, either, especially not with the knowledge that he had very limited time to do it in, but John persevered and thought he managed to get the most important points across reasonably well.

It was enough to get Ben to shoot a glance towards the door. “So…that’s your Alpha, is it? The one who managed to get into the old house undetected and we had to drag out of there? The one whose magnifying glass I found?”

“Yeah.” Gods, he’d completely forgotten about that magnifying glass… “Look, Ben, I know it’s a lot to task of you, but – “

“Your Alpha,” Ben said, interrupting him.

“Yes. What about him?” Was he getting defensive? Really? Over something like that? What the actual hell?

“Are you sure he’s…” he paused, hesitating slightly.

John had to admit, he expected the sentence to end something along the lines of ‘up to the task?’ or ‘really all that trustworthy, given that he’s an Alpha?’. They were the two that would make the most sense, given the circumstances.

What he did end up saying, however, was something completely different, something which took John by surprise.

“That he’s going to treat you right?”

“What the hell – where’s this coming from suddenly?”

“John, you’ve been a great support for me…for all of us, from the moment we ended up here. More than that, really. You’ve been our rock and we love you. We don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I can take care of myself.”

John battled the strong urge to fold his arms defensively, mostly because he knew, if he was being honest with himself, that objectively, Ben’s concern was perfectly reasonable. That didn’t mean he was willing to accept that in front of the man, though.

“So…our love doesn’t mean anything?” Ben’s tone had hardened, had become slightly derisive.

“What?” Now he really was confused.

“You’re allowed to take care of us because you care – and I don’t buy it just being a job, by the way – but we’re not allowed to return the favour? How the hell else is that supposed to be interpreted?”

John was about to say something like ‘I’m a qualified doctor. I was a soldier. I was, am not some pampered little Omega whose only brush with danger was…’ and he stopped his own rant right there, realizing before it had even formed fully in his mind just what he was about to say.

_So much for not giving into stereotypes, huh? As though it’s only the other secondary genders that perpetuate them._

He really didn’t have an argument, any _proper_ argument, against that. So, he could only grimace in defeated acknowledgement and apology.

Luckily for him, Ben seemed to understand. “That’s what I thought. So…is he?”

“I think so, yes,” John replied, as honestly as he could.

It didn’t entail that he had no worries or qualms left when it came to the younger Holmes, of course, that would be ludicrous. It merely meant that for all that, he genuinely believed now that Sherlock wanted to treat him right. Whether they’d actually succeed was quite another matter, but they would deal with that when it came to it.

To be frank, they had quite enough to deal with in the present without worrying about the future at the same time. Realizing that was actually a bit of a relief, honestly.

Ben nodded at that. “Fair enough. I’ll believe you.” The tone was slightly dubious, though.

“Don’t test him,” John warned. He saw the other Omega’s eyes narrow and his face pale a little. “Oh, no, he won’t do anything…I’m reasonably sure, anyway. It’s the brother that’s a little – “

There was a rap on the door, then, not loud but noticeable nevertheless.

“John!” The word was hissed rather than shouted but for all that, it carried eminently, which was just a bit worrying. “John!”

John quickly strode back over to the door, Ben’s eyes on him, and opened it just enough that he could see the Alpha’s face. “What?” he snapped, glaring at the lanky body just outside.

“We need to move,” Sherlock hissed. “Now.”

“Yeah, alright, hold – “

“ _Now_ , John. Unless you want them to catch on before all of your charges has been rounded up.”

“We’re not cattle,” Ben said, coming over to stand just behind John. The blond consequently couldn’t see his face, but he could feel the glare that was being directed at what could be seen of Sherlock.

“For the purposes of this rescue mission, you are, whether you like the term or not. But I grant you, cattle would probably be easier to move than a group of Omegas.”

“Sherlock!”

“Merely stating facts.” The words were neutral, but the tone was not, and the scent coming off Sherlock told John that Sherlock knew he’d errored.

That was another thing, really. Yes, you could often tell the mood of someone based on their scent, though how detailed and accurate that turned out to be was rather up in the air and debated in academic circles. But to be able to detect by smell that someone else was feeling guilty was not something he remembered coming across before.

Was that the scent bond? It could be. It certainly wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, becoming more attuned to more particular, complex notes. He did know that there was something akin to that in regular bonds, so maybe that was one thing that the two types had in common? To be honest, it was a particular of bonding he hadn’t delved into in extensive detail.

It really was something to ponder later, though.

“Right, shall we go, then?” he said with more cheerfulness and assurance than he felt.

He had better put on his most confident and commanding but also most compassionate and cheerful demeanour, if he was to successfully convince the others to come with him. They could not be allowed to smell anything untoward on him.

Once more, he was rather grateful for his meagre scent output. It ought to make it significantly easier to keep them calm, as they wouldn’t be able to tell anything was off, with any luck. Fingers crossed.

_Well, they haven’t until now, have they, even after all these years?_

No, but the way this day had turned out so far, it would just figure that he’d end up setting off someone at an inopportune moment and then all hell would break loose.

A hand settled on his shoulder, carefully, almost hesitantly. A broad, bony one.

He looked up at Sherlock.

The Alpha didn’t say anything out loud, but he did rub his thumb over a patch bared by John’s slightly oversized jumper. It felt as comforting as it was, probably unconsciously, meant to.

_Right. You can do it, Watson. Once more unto the breach, yeah? God, if that doesn’t feel uncomfortably apt._

* * *

They were walking the relatively short distance to the first set of rooms where the Omegas and the few Betas there slept and doing so at as brisk a pace as they could, which to Sherlock’s mind wasn’t quickly enough.

He’d received a text from his brother just before he’d rapped on the door. The text had urged him to get a move on because, although they had taken as many precautions as possible to have most of the owners occupied at some social event elsewhere for the night, one had been spotted by CCTV leaving the premises early. His car, along with one belonging to an owner who hadn’t turned up for the event at all, was headed in the direction of the harem.

Only the fact that they’d this time chosen a relatively remote Scottish estate as the location bought them a bit of extra time, which would hopefully be enough.

He hadn’t told John this, partly because he wasn’t entirely sure this other Omega wouldn’t overhear – and the reaction from a non-combat hardened Omega would hardly be favourable, to put it mildly – but mainly because John didn’t need undue distractions in the circumstances.

_Well, that’s a load of tosh, isn’t it?_ This time, the voice sounded more like a fed-up, exasperated Lestrade than his brother. _If he’s to do his job, then he should be kept abreast of every aspect that might put that job in jeopardy, shouldn’t he?_

It was with a small jolt that Sherlock realized that he’d let his instincts make the decision rather than his rational brain, and he hadn’t even been aware of it.

Had he really slipped so much? How? Yes, it wasn’t the first time he hadn’t managed to override his instincts, but he’d been aware of it when it’d happened then…hadn’t he? Hadn’t he?

“Are you sure he’s not just going to turn us over to another harem, John?” Ben asked quietly, snapping him out of his thoughts to focus on the not entirely welcome Omega. “Or keep us and start one himself?”

They’d come to a halt a few feet from what, judging by the smell, was the first room that housed the Omegas.

Gods, they downright reeked, didn’t they? How that scent was considered the aphrodisiac every Alpha would be gagging to obtain was beyond him.

_What, you mean like the scent John is putting out?_

“I would have absolutely no use, nor any patience for that,” Sherlock replied, tone flat and cool despite John’s eyes on him. It was a way to hopefully regain some modicum of equilibrium. “Nor would anyone of you hold my interest.”

The blond’s stare turned to something more like a glare but despite having seen it, the Alpha ploughed on. He had a point to prove, more to John than to this Ben. “You are, however, of great importance to John, to the point that he is putting his own life in danger in order to make sure all of you are safely rescued. So, to give him a chance to do that, I have tagged along, I believe the phrase is, to assist him.”

He deliberately didn’t mention the scent bond and the deterioration of it nor the baby. The man, only just a man rather than a lanky, gangly boy, looked shocked enough as it was. Well, that and it quite frankly wasn’t any of his business, either. Both things were deeply private and concerned only John and Sherlock.

Despite his reasonable argument, Sherlock could see that John hadn’t stopped glaring at him. What for? He’d only been relaying the truth, there ought to be no –

“My life isn’t in danger,” the former soldier said in a quiet, yet placating, reassuring tone, addressing Ben but keeping his eyes on the Alpha.

Sherlock looked at him in disbelief. “Ignoring the facts do not make them go away, John.”

Why on earth was he so intent on being

Something flashed in steely blue eyes.

“My life isn’t in danger,” John repeated, lowering his voice further, “because you have agreed to accompany me. Isn’t that so?” He cocked his head as he raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t that so?”

For a very brief moment, anger rose like a darting flame inside the Alpha at the perceived insubordination. It faded as soon as it rose, though, crushed beneath his once again firm, for a given value, grip on his instincts, which he realized was to blame for the emotion.

The rest of him swelled with pride at John’s spirit, his open defiance of an Alpha. It was certainly a marked contrast to the Omega he’d seen come in through the door earlier that day, and he flattered himself slightly that he might just have helped to bring out what he’d term the real John rather than the one whose focus was purely on survival.

What was more, and more important than his feelings on the matter, John had a good point.

So, Sherlock nodded.

He was rewarded with a small but significant smile, one which made his chest warm and a small smile spread in turn on his face. It was a smile that said ‘I get it. I don’t entirely agree but I get it’.

“Right, then. If we each take a room,” John said, indicating himself and Ben, “then we’ll have the first few gathered back out here relatively fast, I think. After that, though, it’s best if you stay out here to look after them and I go find and talk around the rest of them. I’ll be as quick as I can, promise.”

Sherlock understood both what he was getting at and his reasoning behind the plan. He should do, as they’d gone over it while on the move. He’d agreed with it. Now when it came to it, though, all he could think of was the ways in which it could go wrong, the scent bond not being the sole scenario.

“No,” he consequently said, trying to impress his change of heart through his tone.

It quite clearly didn’t work, sadly.

“Shut up, Sherlock, you’re not being asked for input on this.” John didn’t even deign him a look, which unexpectedly hurt.

“John, you shouldn’t be – “

“It’s the most efficient way of doing it without any of them panicking because they see an Alpha the moment they congregate out here,” the blond interrupted with a snap. “Ben will keep them calm, talk to them so that they’re ready to be handed over to your goon squad!”

“We don’t have the time for that!”

Why couldn’t he see that?

_You haven’t exactly divulged the reason, now have you?_

John bridled. “I’ll be quick, I said. You need to trust me.”’

“I do!” How could he even doubt that, after all this? “That’s not the problem!”

“Then what is?!”

“Guys, would you be _quiet_?!” Ben hissed, putting a hand on both their shoulders, pressing, looking between them. “And while you’re at it, you can both stop spewing out scent like it’s going out of fashion. It’s bloody confusing, to say nothing of ruddy nauseating, _and_ you’re going to spook the hell out of any of the others. We’re the delicate gender, not bloody anosmic or dumb.”

Both brunet Alpha and blond Omega turned their glares on him, but he managed to not flinch under them, which the younger Holmes was slightly impressed by.

He then turned his attention back to his Omega.

“The problem,” he said, keeping his voice low, “is that two owners are on their way here. By estimation, they’re half an hour from reaching it.”

John’s scent changed slightly at that but otherwise he didn’t show any indication that the revelation bothered him. Instead, he nodded after a moment, as though he’d processed the new information and course-corrected accordingly.

That wasn’t to say there wasn’t a small spark of anger in those blue eyes and…just a hint that said, ‘we will talk about this later, I promise you’.

Sherlock blinked at that. He could read people, yes, and was exceptionally good at it. That right there, though, that felt quite a lot more specific than even he was usually able to manage. Why was this?

“Can we have them come along?” John was asking when Sherlock resurfaced from his contemplations. He sounded dubious.

“They will slow you down,” the Alpha said. “If you must both go, then do so and be quick about it. I can look after the ones you gather.”

Not that he particularly wanted to – the mere thought of that many Omegas gathered around him, unsure, spooked and communicating those feelings any way they could made him feel like retching – but if it was what it took to get John out before the approaching owners arrived, Mycroft’s people were forced to take action, and everything ended in utter pandemonium, then he’d more than gladly do it.

“Sherlock, you’re an Alpha.”

“Brilliant deduction, I must say.”

_“Meaning,_ they won’t trust you.”

“All they need to trust is that I am not going to harm them.” He had no interest in any Omega that wasn’t John, after all. There was a reason he’d remained unbonded until now.

“Exactly.” As though that said it all.

Why would…Was there something wrong with John’s sense of smell? Surely, he could tell that with the scent bond, there was new notes to their…

“There’s nothing wrong with their noses, is there?”

“No, of course not, why – “

“Then they ought to be able to tell that you and I have…that we are…”

He hesitated, not because he was leery about the fact that they were connected, that they had a scent bond, quite the opposite. If it was up to him exclusively, he would be using every opportunity he had to say, to let people know that he had a scent bond with John Watson, soldier, doctor and Omega extraordinaire, and that he was the one who was lucky.

However, it wasn’t exclusively his call to make. If John didn’t want Ben to know about the bond, and it was obvious that he hadn’t told him, then Sherlock wouldn’t be the one to out him. He had already made plenty of blunders since their reunion, to the point that it was, objectively speaking, a bit of a wonder that the blond still wanted him around.

“That’s still isn’t the same as you posing no danger to them. They know what role they’ll be likely to play if they ever get out of here.”

It’s not the same, though, is it?” It was Ben asking, not Sherlock. Pale eyes swivelled to him, slightly narrowed. Ben held his ground. “I mean, yeah, we’ve had a lot of Alphas coming through here who are already bonded and still act and smell dangerously, but this…this smells different. Sherlock’s right, he doesn’t smell like a threat. Well, not like he did last time, anyway.”

Last time? What last…? He hadn’t! Had he? He hadn’t smelled anyone but John on him afterwards but that wasn’t to say that he hadn’t –

He quickly turned his eyes back to John, and they must have shown his panic because the former doctor shook his head immediately.

“He helped carry you out, that’s all,” he explained. “You were…quite out of it afterwards.”

The slightly uncomfortable look in John’s eyes at that was a giveaway. He’d been drugged, hadn’t he? So…John had been the one to drug him? Why?

_Because you were a trespassing Alpha, you idiot, he needed to get you out of there without you making an undue racket. One that might tip off the owners you’d been there. So, again, he saved your arse._

John turned back to Ben. “You can tell, though?” he asked, his voice a little odd.

“Of course, I can,” Ben replied, sounded only mildly offended. “I see and smell you every day. It’s not like it’s obvious, though, and I didn’t know quite what it meant before I met this guy. The two of you together, though…yeah, it becomes pretty obvious. Enough that the others won’t react, anyway, though they’ll probably ask you a ton of questions.”

Sherlock managed to contain the grimace that threatened at the remark. He was in any case more focused on how John took that information.

He seemed more than a little taken aback. Had he thought it entirely undetectable by everyone? The idea that he couldn’t smell the difference himself was too stupid to be considered. He’d twigged that there was a scent bond, which he would hardly have found out any other way than through smelling himself, seeing as they had no access to proper medical equipment in the place.

But why would he think it undetectable? No, he didn’t think it, he suddenly realized, he’d hoped it. Fervently hoped, most likely, that nobody would’ve picked up on it. If they did, he might face serious recriminations from the owners. For something that had not been his free choice but rather merely circumstances thrust upon him. Not that they’d care, there was plenty of evidence supporting _that_.

Sherlock felt unaccustomed bile rise in his throat at that. Not only for the thought of what that said about how John had been treated by the owners, as well as possibly before that, but for the fact that John didn’t choose him. Sherlock was another circumstance thrust upon him.

_He’s choosing you now, idiot. With every decision he’s made since you were reunited, well, almost, but let’s be fair here, he’s been choosing you, despite all the crap he’s been exposed to since. If you can’t work that one out…_

“Earth to Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

How extraordinary it was that John could pull him out of his mind like that, very reliably so.

“You’re sure you’re okay to look after them?”

Sherlock fixed him with as unaffected and imperious an expression as he could muster. It served to earn him a snort, but as it was one of amusement, he didn’t mind.

“Hurry,” he said, voice low but urgent. “Please.”

John nodded. Then he stepped forward to close the gap between them. He reached a hand up quickly to grab the Alpha by the back of his neck, pulled him down and pressed their lips together, hard.

Sherlock responded immediately, letting out what was quite an undignified noise. He didn’t get a chance to deepen it, though, before John pulled back.

They shared a look, after which the former soldier nodded and turned on his heels, Ben following to retrieve the other Omegas

* * *

 It went well. In hindsight, it probably went _too_ well, but then again, hindsight was always 20/20, wasn’t it?

The first bunch of Omegas were quiet as they were led out, their eyes flickering between the men they knew and the, John supposed, imposing figure of an unknown Alpha in front of them down the hall. Despite what they’d been told, he could still smell varying levels of fear in their scents, which was probably understandable, utterly frustrating and time-wasting though it was.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, would you move already?” Sherlock finally snapped. “I’m not going to bite you.”

They looked to John for confirmation. He smiled and nodded, all too aware that he had more trips to make and very little time in which to do it. Sherlock hadn’t divulged just how far away the owners were, but it couldn’t be that far, if he was worried.

“He’s not,” he confirmed. “I promise. He’s not going to do anything.” _He’s mine, not yours, only mine, you can’t have him…goddamn instincts, that’s not the…but he’s mine!_

Clearing his throat to cover that line of thought, he continued, “As I said, just stay with him until Ben and I return with the rest of you. The better behaviour you’re on, the faster this can all go. Do you understand me?”

There were audible murmurs of agreement among the group and they moved the rest of the way, though they kept at a distance of a few feet from the Alpha, which was understandable.

As he turned to leave for the next group, John caught the expression on the Alpha’s face and almost did a double take; the expression was one of pride and admiration and the pale eyes were focused solely on him, indisputable despite the distance.

For him? Why?

_Well, why do you think, you twat?_

But that didn’t gel with…but hang on, Sherlock wasn’t most Alphas, was he? He’d proven that more than once, even if he’d also fallen victim to one of the more unfortunate instincts. That was just the one, though, and he’d…not exactly apologized but made it clear that he knew he’d done wrong.

That look had been deliberate, and it wasn’t just pride in there, was it, if he was being honest?

Buoyed by that thought, its implications and what those implications might entail for his, for _their_ future, he set off, his hand almost unconsciously finding the lower part of his stomach.

* * *

Almost everyone now gathered, Sherlock doing a surprisingly efficient job of keeping the group calm and together –  the Omegas turned out to be fascinated and intrigued by him rather than wary or fearful when they’d recognized the notes in his scent that were not Alpha and Sherlock, for his part, had secretly relished an opportunity to get to know more about his John, even if it was from rather inferior sources – there were only one missing.

One Omega, the one John had gotten in contact for to try and save from her fate, it would appear, had, in preparation for her ‘new circumstances’ as it was euphemistically termed, been ordered, over the occasionally-used tannoy system, into a separate, specially-prepared room a long way away once they’d gotten back from delivering John, Ben had explained.

John’s temper flared at that, obvious to anyone who had the sense to properly look and observe him. To the rest of them, however, he appeared only ticked off, if even that.

Sherlock, who’d gotten a text from his brother that they didn’t have more time to wait and they would be moving now, moved quickly to catch up with him, pushing through the Omegas, his long legs giving him an advantage.

He didn’t grab him by the arm, not risking surprising John with possible negative consequences, but merely called out when he was a few feet from him. Whether it was his voice that did it or his scent, he wasn’t entirely sure, but John did turn, which was the main thing.

Stepping closer so that he could speak into the blond’s ear, he hissed, “They’re coming now. One of the owners took a shortcut and they’ll be here any moment. Mycroft won’t take the chance of this blowing up in his face, whatever the consequences to the…charges.”

He hoped that the rest would get across, too; that he wasn’t stopping John from doing his duty, that he wouldn’t ever do that, but that he was imploring him to hurry, to get back to him as soon as possible.

John, looking him right in the eye, swallowed, then nodded, clearly. _Message understood._

He then leant up and kissed, not Sherlock’s lips, but his cheek. A fleeting but warm smile passed his lips as he pulled back, then he was off, moving at a pace that was almost but not quite running.

Sherlock’s hand went up to his cheek wholly unconsciously as he watched John disappear around a corner.

It ought to be nothing, really, even though it was anything but. A kiss on the cheek, what difference did that make? They’d kissed on the lips, more than once, how could a chaste little kiss on the cheek compare? That was something you gave your parents, your little sister, your nan.

That was it, though, really, wasn’t it? You could do those mechanically – God knew that was usually how Sherlock did them, because his female family members would give him hell if he didn’t – of course you could. But normally, those were quick and a little theatrical, understood on both sides. To give one that lingered, even if only briefly, that was something you did with the people you cared about.

A kiss on the lips could be given for a number of reasons, especially between an Alpha and an Omega, but one on the cheek like that? That was something else and it spread inside Sherlock’s chest.

He turned back to the group. “If you all want to get out of here safely, we move now.”

* * *

Ruby was sitting in the middle of the rather ostentatious bed when John knocked on and then immediately opened the door. She was still awake and very alert, as she wasn’t due to have her ‘preparations’ done until one of the owners returned, likely in the next day or so, to make sure that it was done. Not that any of them would do it themselves, of course, but one of their PAs who worked there sometimes during office hours to give the place the official ‘look’ and turn away anyone deemed not looking as the right sort of ‘clientele’, as it were, would be tasked with it.

Was that maybe why two of the owners were returning to the harem? The Alpha who were to take Ruby for her own, if things went according to the owners’ plan, had perhaps altered his wishes and so they would have had to step up the time plan in order to comply with them. The customer was always right, after all.

Granted, this was nothing but idle speculation, really, but even so, John felt as though that wasn’t that farfetched a possibility. It made more sense than one of them just happening to decide to go check up on or make use of the harem on this night, certainly. That was just one coincidence too far.

Might Moriarty have tipped them off, though? After all, why was he here of all nights, too? Not that he hadn’t shown up at the oddest of times before, that was true, but still, why of all nights tonight?

But if he wanted them stopped, why hadn’t he made any real move to stop them when they’d met? He couldn’t overpower them, possibly, and so he’d chosen the other way.

Somehow, that didn’t sit right. Yes, there’d been speculations on whether the man had been tied to the owners or not, indeed if he was one of them, but after the way he’d acted towards Sherlock, another Alpha rather than an Omega like John, had been quite similar, it…somehow seemed far too simple an explanation for what was evidently a strange and dangerous Alpha.

Shaking his head slightly to clear his head of unnecessary thoughts, John moved towards Ruby, who regarded him warily but also somewhat resignedly.

“Is it time?” she asked, her voice small, seemingly despite her best efforts. She really was depressingly sweet at times.

He almost answered ‘yes’, before he remembered that what she was referring to wasn’t what he thought, as she was too far away from the others to hear or smell anything and therefore wouldn’t know that something was going on, the way a lot of the others had once they’d started moving them.

Instead, he shook his head. “No,” he said, trying for a reassuring smile and not entirely sure he succeeded. “No, not for that. Promise.”

“Then what?” She seemed to pause as he came nearer. “John, you smell different – was it that Alpha we brought you to? Is it – are you alright?”

_…Does everybody have to ask me that?_ John couldn’t help wondering “I’m fine. No, really, I am.” For a given value of ‘fine’, anyway, but sometimes, the less information, the better, especially for Ruby.

She still looked dubious but before she could say something else, he interrupted her. “Is there anything in here of importance to you, that you need to bring?”

“I thought you said – “ she started, anxiety working itself into her expression again.

“We’re being…moved.”

“Again?”

“Not by the owners, this time.”

“I…you…really?” she asked, a small, disbelieving hope in her voice betraying that she wasn’t always entirely dim. Well, he knew she wasn’t, not at all, well, most of the time. She just had the misfortune of being young and rather naïve, something which he really couldn’t blame her for.

After all, that had been him once upon a time, hadn’t it? Even if it did seem as if it happened in another life. To another person, really.

Perhaps that was part of what made Omegas into such pack animals, really. The ability to relate. That or, more likely, it was more like herds where you hoped the predator wouldn’t single you out from a group if you didn’t want him to.

He nodded. “We’ve got to move quick, though. The cavalry is on its way but so are the owners.”

She gave a nod in turn, got up from the bed in one fluid motion and then nearly collapsed onto it again, her legs seemingly refusing to support her, her eyes briefly glazing over.

He was beside her instantly, the worry of not having the time in which she could faint or similar pushed to the back of his mind by his doctor instincts coming to the fore. One hand went to feel her forehead, pushing blond curls out of the way while the other grabbed at her wrist, feeling her pulse with his index and middle finger.

Meanwhile, with barely any coaxing for her to look at him, he also looked into her eyes. The surprise of the fall or the lack of much light in the room wasn’t entirely to blame for the dilated pupils. Nor was the warmth of her forehead or the slow, not quite regular rhythm of her pulse very reassuring.

The conclusion wasn’t hard to arrive at.

“Who else has been here?” he asked.

“A man, an Alpha was here,” she answered.

“When?”

“An hour ago? I can’t quite…but I think so. Gave me a pill…two? He smelled odd, John, but I think I recognized…he’s been here before. A few times.”

That did sound an awful lot like… “Dark hair, brown eyes? About my height? Expensive-looking suit?”

“Yes!”

Bloody, buggering _hell_. Of bleeding course, it was fucking Moriarty. That was all he needed, wasn’t it? Then again, it had gone rather smoothly, hadn’t it? He ought to have known there would come a complication, ought to have had him in his calculations, given what he knew about the man. But what had he done? Swooned over a ruddy Alpha instead like some sort of lovesick teenage Omega instead, bringing danger to everyone –

No. No, stay calm, stay focused. Self-flagellation certainly wasn’t going to help anyone right this moment. What he needed to do now was instead to fucking well get on with it and get the two of them out, hoping that Sherlock had, along with Ben, managed to get the rest of them out safely, something which was more of a firm belief than a mere hope.

It was complicated by her having been slipped a drug, one that he did not know definitively from the symptoms she exhibited but given the circumstances could hazard a guess at, but it did not make it impossible. If need be, he would carry her on his back. He tried not to think about what other consequences the pill might cause in her body, either short- or long-term. Some of it he knew, some of it he could only speculate about, both only sent his blood cold and offered him nothing concrete with which to work. So, best to ignore it and focus on what he could do.

He could feel his heart pound for a different reason as he got her back to her feet, memories that he’d tried to suppress, even more so since he and Sherlock had been reunited, forcing their way back up to the forefront of his mind, taking a dose of unwanted bile along with it.

“Come on, stay with me. Hello, there you are. Anything you want to take? I’ll get it for you, just hold on to the post here…” She pointed at a bag at the foot of the bed. “Ah. You listened to me. Right. You can walk yeah?”

She nodded, looking determined even if she still had the dazed look of some cartoon character just hit by an anvil. Well, that, or…or someone who was about to enter a particularly strong heat, though the rest of her demeanour didn’t support that, nor did her scent, entirely. If she was that close to such a heat, she should have been wriggling and twitching, a prelude to the writhing she’d do while it was underway, not moving as though attempting to recreate the zombie movies, the ones where it was strangely always Betas that became zombies and preyed on the poor Omegas.

Fuck.

He got her out the door, her feet moving mechanically but surprisingly swiftly for that, her arm around his shoulders and his around her waist.

Taking a moment to remember which exit was not just the nearest but the one that would lead him back to where he had agreed to meet up with Sherlock and the others, he turned them in the right direction.

Whatever it’d take, he’d get these charges of his out safe and sound. All of them.

_I am not losing another one._

He wasn’t entirely sure which he meant.

 

If Sherlock thought watching John disappear then reappear a little while later was hard, it paled in comparison to watching him disappear and knowing he wouldn’t see him reappear until much later, and _that_ couldn’t hold a candle to moving away himself without him.

In fact, it tore at his instincts, his senses and his conscious mind, all of them screaming, though with variations in emphasis and phrasing, at him that this was wrong. He couldn’t leave his Omega behind, he was supposed to protect him, how could he do that if he wasn’t by his side all the time?

_Oh, piss off with you,_ said an inner voice and he wasn’t sure whether he ought to be proud or shocked that the voice sounded quite a lot like John. _He’s an adult, he went to war, he effectively managed a whole harem for years, he doesn’t need you mollycoddling him like some frail Omega just to make yourself feel better, does he? Hell, he can probably manage himself far better than you can, either him or yourself. Get on with it._

But there was something concrete to worry about with their separation, wasn’t there? Something that didn’t have to do with idiotic, antiquated instincts. Well, not quite. The deterioration of the scent bond was still a very real and present danger to John’s health and that wouldn’t change just because there was a legitimate reason for them to split up this time.

He had a responsibility to his Omega, regularly bonded or not.

On the other hand, though, he had promised John that he would do this, and the thought of letting him down hurt, if not as much as the thought of harm coming to him, still enough to twist his insides.

_Better hurry up, then, haven’t you? You know what can happen to him if you’re separated for too long, so your job is to make sure that separation is as short as it possibly can be._

It took him an awful amount of effort even so to keep his focus on shepherding the group along rather than the instinct pulling him back towards John.

_If you want him to trust you, trust that you will keep treating him as an equal and not an object like the stereotypical, possessive Alpha, you need to put the words into action._

He felt a hand slip into his, a small, soft one. Looking down in surprise, he saw a curvy, heart-faced Omega – the worldliness of her demeanour clearly born within the harem, picked up when she had barely presented, popular among the rougher type of clients, attempts to mother everyone to cope – woman who smiled up at him in what he realized was a reassuring manner.

“Don’t worry about John,” she said. “He’s very capable.”

“Yes, of _course_ he is,” Sherlock replied, and it did come out as something of a snap. “I’ve never doubted that. That does not entail that nothing will happen, _does it_?”

She looked a little taken aback at that. However, her hand didn’t leave his and more than a little surprisingly, he didn’t feel a distinct urge to pull away, either.

She also looked ready to say something else but at that moment, the cavalry arrived. They came with the usual amount of bombast, moving quickly and rather intimidatingly in their full gear, and Sherlock would have to concede with John’s opinion that if the Omegas had been thrust immediately into their ‘care’, they would’ve been wary, scared, fearful and might even have bolted or otherwise have reacted like a drove of horses suddenly confronted with a pack of wolves. Not that they could be blamed, really.

As it were, they still reacted by drawing together and their scents were gradually thickening with fear.

Sherlock found himself walking forward, putting himself in front of them. He argued in his mind that it was purely to talk to the head of the unit but knew that in fact it was to protect the group he’d been entrusted with.

The man in ‘charge’, a broad, square Alpha of a man who seemed to like being in charge a little too much from the tilt of his hips and his flexing fingers and liked a drink a little too much too often by the look of his eyes, ran said eyes up and down Sherlock. Mostly down, in such a blasé attempt at dominance in the situation that it was almost comical.

Honestly, surely Mycroft could’ve found someone better than this? This man was a veritable brute, far too stupid to…ah. Less likely to ask questions or attempt to be clever, preferring to try and solve things with his scent and stature and with his fist if the others didn’t work. If he did try to be clever, it wouldn’t exactly take much to counter whatever pathetic little scheme he came up with, too, so he was a relatively safe choice that could still manage the others in the group.

That wasn’t to say Sherlock felt any compulsion to be fair towards the man, especially not if his behaviour threatened getting the group out of there as fast and safely as possible.

“You Holmes?” the man said in a bark as he straightened up in a rather predictable and tedious attempt to emphasize the dominance he was trying to establish.

“If you need to ask that, perhaps I should wonder whether you are qualified to speak, let alone lead this group,” Sherlock replied, blinking deliberately slowly to demonstrate that he wasn’t in the least bit threatened or even affected by the other Alpha’s pitiful efforts.

The response had the predicted effect; the man stiffened, his nostrils flared, and his scent grew more pungent. The slight nervous twitch under his eye and in his cheek was somewhat unexpected, though.

“You what?”

“Deaf as well? Or maybe just inefficient processing power? In any case, I’m afraid I don’t have for this. Your men will lead these people out, as quietly, quickly and safely as possible. They will do this without any fuss and,” here he looked around the assembled team, giving them as haughty and imperious a look as he could muster to reinforce his point and his command, “without laying a hand _or anything else_ on any of the Omegas. I hope that is understood.”

The silence following that lasted only very briefly. Then someone spoke up.

“They’re damaged goods already, what does it matter? They should be used to it, working in a ruddy harem!”

There were noises of assent at that from the others in the team and the Omegas huddled further together. Interestingly, though, they didn’t cower, not as such. It more closely resembled a herd forming as close a circle around the weakest, or in this case likely the most traumatized and fragile, in the group.

_Fascinating. Is that instinctual response once they’re in a large enough group? Does it matter whether they’ve all known each other for a long time or are new members automatically, instinctually incorporated into the herd? Has there been a serious study of what effects living arrangement like these have on the internal dynamics between the Omegas? Perhaps John knows –_

And with that, Sherlock’s thoughts jolted back to the task at hand. He didn’t have time for this.

“It matters because they’re far more valuable than any of you could ever hope to be,” he said, his scent intensifying to assist, battering the Betas and other Alphas far more than the Omegas, “and this is _before_ we talk about their worth as _people_. You will adhere to the instructions or you _will_ suffer the consequences. Now, **_move_** _.”_

The last word was pure Alpha power, backed by all the hauteur he’d learned by watching his older brother in action for years and his scent, growing more pronounced and dominating.

The squad stood there for only the briefest of moments, mouths open and eyes wide, their senses taking in the overload that was Sherlock Holmes in that moment. Then they scurried to obey.

Sherlock turned to his, temporary, charges who looked at him warily, wide-eyed. He found himself smiling.

“Aren’t Alphas idiots?” he said, overly cheerful. “Come on, now, we don’t have much time.”

They also obeyed but some of them, including Ben, grinned at him as they went past.

He brought up the rear.

_Not long now. I’ll be there to meet you, John, I promise. Please hurry._

* * *

They had made it out of the building at last.

John wasn’t sure how exactly they had, with Ruby growing gradually more unresponsive and slacker in his grip as they progressed. Not that he blamed her, of course he didn’t, that was ludicrous. But it had meant the trip had taken longer than he would have liked, and it hadn’t helped that he’d lost his way a little even though he’d tried to steer them right.

If only he wasn’t worried that he was going to bump into Moriarty every time he turned the corner. That utter shit-stain of a human being, never mind an Alpha, was responsible for Ruby’s condition and he wouldn’t put it past him to have alerted the owners, either, or be standing somewhere read to be a hindrance.

Yet, out they had made it. Only, it was on the westside of the manor instead of the northside and the wings of the building weren’t stubby. This meant he had to either go around, which he didn’t have the time for, or he would have to go back inside. Neither option –

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! It's back, baby!...please don't kill me.  
> One might think that with a computer secured, it wouldn't have taken long for this chapter to come out. The reason it's still taken this long is...well, I've been very close to chucking the entire thing at least three times, and once, too, thought about just not writing more on the story ever.  
> In the end, I decided I wouldn't and so you get this, warts and all, sorry to say (it was meant to go up yesterday but then, well, birthday n all).   
> We're getting close to a wrapping it up, though. I promise this time, for real this time. :) That's something, yeah?


	11. Encounters and protective instinccts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody's come to play with and Sherlock tries to get to his Omega in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, this has come out in a far more timely fashion, hasn't it? I've really worked hard to make a shorter wait time. I can't promise that trend will continue, though, but fingers crossed.  
> Thank you so very much to the people who have stuck with this (it's lost a few subscribers), it's very greatly appreciated, and so too is the feedback! ♥♥ Seriously, you are stars.

The voice came from behind them, somewhere to the right and although not that close, far closer than John liked.

His immediate, pre-thought assumption was that the voice belonged to Moriarty and he stiffened. Then his rational brain kicked in and informed him that the pitch and cadence was all wrong and besides, he knew that voice perfectly well. He’d heard it often enough over the years.

That he knew the Alpha didn’t mean that he relaxed. There was a reason he knew that voice, and the person it belonged to, so well and it wasn’t just because it was one of the owners.

He was one of the few who very regularly didn’t only sample the merchandise but…put them through their paces, as he’d named it. The Omega felt his jaw clench at the mere thought.

The footsteps could be heard in the stillness of the gathering night immediately surrounding them, moving towards them slowly but steadily, a non-verbal threat of what was to come.

_Which would probably work a whole lot better if his scent had the merest whiff of threatening or intimidation powers to it instead of that oily, repulsive stench. Gods, that’s vile. How he doesn’t end up with every Omega vomiting all over him, or worse, every time he tries to get near one, I have no idea._

“I might have known it’d be you,” the Alpha said, drawling smirk evident in his voice. A voice that was so close that he had to be standing just a few yards away.  “You always were quite the bleeding heart, sanctimonious, martyring little bitch of a whore, it’d bloody figure that it’d be you who’d decided to rile up the other bitches. What, jealous of them, are ye? Not getting enough knot to satisfy you anymore so you thought you’d try the real world and drag them with you out of spite?”

Thank god that it wasn’t just his scent which had a lot in common with mayonnaise. He probably was able to smell them both right now, standing so close, even with the wind carrying his and Ruby’s scents the other way. Any idiot would know the Omega instincts would be to take care of their own, maternal instincts kicking in, when someone smelled of Heat like Ruby had started to, even if John’s own status as scent-bonded and pregnant wasn’t picked up on. The notion that he’d dragged Ruby out –

Wait, hang on. He hadn’t said ‘her’ or even ‘it’. He’d said ‘them’.

Of course, it could be nothing more than another way to mean her. Yet…not only had he also used the term ‘other bitches’, Sherlock had said that they had left prior engagements to come and had been coming fast. Someone must’ve tipped them off and if they had, why only mention John? And again, it didn’t tally with ‘other bitches’.

The doctor stiffened further. If this piece of knotweed had come around here, was the other one going to the opposite side, the one where the meeting place was? Would they then run into Sherlock, Ben and the rest of his charges?

_Calm down. For fuck’s sake, calm **down**! They’re just the one person, they cannot do them any harm. Not only are they a group rather than a duo, they’ve got Mycroft there and his team. They’re way better equipped to handle an intruder like that than you are._

But that only applied if they’d actually made it to the meeting place and –

_Your Alpha trusts you, otherwise he wouldn’t have let you do this on your own. Now trust **him**._

That helped, as did the knowledge that even if that was the case, there was nothing he could do about it right at this moment. He was a significant distance away, far enough that he’d might just be able to get there in time…if he was on his own, no complications happened in between, and even then, it wouldn’t be a certain thing.

When you then factored in Ruby in her current condition, the chances shrank in to virtually none. The thought of leaving her didn’t even cross his mind.

All of this passed through his mind very quickly. The Alpha behind him hadn’t had time to move more than a few paces closer to them.

So…he would have to deal with this situation as it was, making sure that whatever happened, this piece of shite neither got his hands anywhere _near_ Ruby nor was in any position to alert the rest of the owners about what he’d seen.

The idea that he’d already done that Joh didn’t even entertain. The man, if you could call him that, always liked cornering his victims when on their own, liked to gain whatever minute victory and upper hand that he could. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity to do that before he alerted anyone else.

The thought occurred suddenly that maybe it wasn’t pure coincidence that he’d arrived here, of all places, right when John and Ruby had stumbled out. Perhaps he’d been specifically directed…but by whom?

_Not the time to speculate about that!_

But he did have a little bit of time, didn’t he? He could hear the steps coming ever closer…closer…

He felt the stench of pheromones in his nostrils now and fought the urge to lash out. Just a little closer…come on…

“I’ve always fantasized about having two Omegas service me at the same time,” the sleaze murmured in what he clearly thought was a seductive tone of voice. In fact, all it did was enhance the pathetically repugnant feel of him. “Pity that’s been against house rules.”

_Only because you and your sodding peers never pay enough to make the other owners consider it even remotely worthwhile that you might damage more than one commodity. Always on the house doesn’t get top-quality products._

The excuse for an Alpha reached out a hand to touch the still apparently-frozen former soldier. “Now seems such a good time to make up for what couldn’t be, though, eh? Oh, the contrast between you two, the youthful, inexperienced, ripe little petal in over her head and begging for more, and the scarred, broken has-been who’s – !“

He never got the chance to finish the sentence; before he could, he’d moved close enough for John to, after letting Ruby slip to the ground, unconscious, as gently but quickly as possible, shoot out his arm behind him and grip the wrist of the hand reaching for him, his grasp punishing.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the Alpha squawked, shocked.

John merely smiled, unseen.

* * *

The group of Omegas made it out of the manor house with no more incident than Ben, with some assistance from Sherlock of all things, could handle. It did mean that one of the squad members had an arm that was broken in several places and another was limping quite significantly, but such were quite trifling matters, really, in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t as though they were much of an asset to…anything, really, certainly not in the present circumstances.

Once they arrived at the arranged meeting place, however, it became clear that things weren’t as they ought to be.

Not only were there no John – which was Sherlock’s main if not almost-exclusive focus – but what was happening might well be called a commotion if not a downright scuffle. Well, one had happened and what they were witnessing was more of an aftermath.

Still, the sight of a few people, the ones who were meant to look after the Omegas from this point onwards, sitting around nursing different degrees of injuries and Inspector Lestrade sitting astride a screaming and kicking woman on the ground, fighting to keep her down and read her rights to her at the same time while she tried simultaneously to buck him off and scratch the eyes out of Anthea, assisting in keeping her down, was a bit of an unexpected spectacle.

The most surprising, though, was Mycroft, standing a little distance away, a handkerchief pressed against his lower face in a way that clearly said he was bleeding from both his nose and his lip, another cut on his cheek sparkling red. The part of Sherlock that was still five years old rejoiced at the sight.

The rest of him, however, was occupied with piecing together what had happened. Not that they were difficult deductions to make.

One thing did stand out, however, grievously so.

He remembered to make sure that Ben had a handle on the Omegas, something which he felt John would be proud of him for, before he marched up to his brother.

“Where’s John?” he demanded once he got there.

Mycroft, whose attention had alternatively been on the still struggling Lestrade, on the coming Omegas, and his own situation, turned his gaze on his brother and the eyes were inscrutable in the darkness, even to the younger Holmes.

He didn’t say anything, however, merely raised an eyebrow, as if to communicate ‘surely you haven’t managed to lose him after all this?’ So it at least seemed to Sherlock.

It made him bridle and snarl wordlessly, in a futile effort to mask the panic starting to rise within him.

Where was John? He was supposed to be here, to have arrived back into safety where the risk of his collapse due to the scent bond deterioration could be mitigated and helped. Mycroft would be able to organise the required medical help, at the very least.

The elder Holmes was unperturbed. “Doctor Watson is your responsibility, brother mine, not the government’s. I cannot keep track of everyone.” His voice didn’t sound diminished for all that it was a little muffled by the handkerchief.

“You keep track of over 65 million people in this country,” Sherlock snarled in response, “one so close ought to be a piece of cake, and he became your responsibility the moment you dragged him into this.”

“If I recall correctly, _you_ were the one insisting that he come with you.”

“You needed his assistance to achieve all of this in the first place!” Sherlock was right up in his brother’s face at this point, his teeth bared. “I was merely making sure that no more harm would come to him than absolutely necessary!”

“Which I must say, you’ve done a simply stupendous job of so far, haven’t you?” Mycroft snapped back, the mere fact that he was closer to snarling showing clearly that he was feeling off-kilter as much as his well-known scent markers did. “How many hours since you found him again? That’s quite the impressive record to lose him again in.”

“I trust him to make his own decisions and to be able to take care of himself!”

“That’s an extraordinary amount of trust based on nothing but a scent bond!”

“It’s not just the scent bond!”

How he was hissing and snarling instead of shouting and screaming, Sherlock honestly had no idea. His fear and panic were slowly rising now that his Omega wasn’t where he ought to be, now that he might be at risk after all, and his instincts were screaming at him to look for him, to start running and not stop until he’d located him and made sure that he was safe.

Mycroft stared at him for a moment, then blinked and seemed to shake himself. He scrutinized his brother intently for another moment or two. His face softened into something too kind and caring by half for little more than a second, but it was long enough for Sherlock to get the message.

Swallowing against a sudden and entirely unbidden lump in his throat, which he very firmly blamed on the instincts that he couldn’t tamp down on at that moment at all going haywire and inadvertently including familial-smelling people, Sherlock nodded briskly.

He then turned on his heel and strode away, his head already spinning and churning with calculations on where it would make the most sense for John and his charge to have exited, speedily narrowing it down. The greater the accuracy when calculating, the less risk that he ended up at the wrong one, wasting precious minutes that he didn’t have.

Not even the long legs he had been given and all the determination in the world would be enough to make up for it if that happened, with potentially dire consequences to not only John but their…their _child_.

Even so, his eyes sought that of Ben’s as he walked away from the strange tableau, the woman on the ground not yet quiet or subdued, almost automatically, slowing his stride a little as he did so.

He wanted to tell himself that things were under control, that there was a handle on the situation and in any case, his one and only duty was to John, and that was only if the Omega doctor let him.

It didn’t work. He needed to make sure.

Ben caught his eye quickly and seemed to have caught on to the situation just as rapidly. He nodded and flashed a smile, then made a jerking motion with his head and went back to his current task.

Sherlock then sped up again, running as fast as his legs would carry him in the direction he’d estimated, based on his calculations, would be the one that John would’ve come out instead of where he ought to have.

_Hold on, John, I’m coming, I’m coming, just hold on,_ he thought, praying fervently that it was merely Alpha hormones insisting that his Omega was in danger when he was on his own. Praying that he was merely being paranoid and would run straight into the two Omegas, John’s brow furrowed, and his lips thinned in annoyance that he wasn’t being trusted to do a job.

Gods, he hoped that was the case.

* * *

Somewhere in his mind, John could still feel the anxiety, worries and all other associated thoughts swirling around like the fake small snowflakes creating an imitation blizzard inside a snow globe when you shook it. In there, too, was the assessment and subsequent knowledge that the deterioration of the scent bond had begun escalating again, slowly gathering momentum now that he’d been separated from what kept it at its momentary standstill.

But that was really it; it was very much like a snow globe, visible but contained and not affecting the outside. It would have no impact on what was immediately about to happen and therefore, it could be safely ignored, at least for the time being.

It was comforting in an odd sort of way to know that when he needed it, that skill was still available to him.

So were other skills, thankfully.

He pulled at the arm he’d grabbed, hard enough to pull the repulsive man right up against him. As he did so, releasing the hand as quickly as he could, the man stumbled slightly, which, judging by the warmth coming off him, put him at about the right height for…

His elbow, of the arm he’d just used to yank the man close, rammed into the Alpha, first into his breast and then, after drawing it back to angle it upwards, into his throat.

The man gave a hoarse shout which became a strangled, tiny little noise when his windpipe was impacted.

John kicked backwards with a foot as well, pleased when his heel made contact with quite the dainty package for an Alpha. He made sure its contact was felt.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite as easily overpowered as John had expected him to be, knowing his normal modus operandi. As he fought for breath, staggering forward instead of backward, he managed to reach up a hand and dig his fingers into John’s neck and throat, two of them digging hard into where the Omega’s scent glands were.

Pain shot through John’s body at that, bright and intense accompanied by dizziness and bile. The only time someone other than himself should apply that much pressure to those glands was in a bonding situation. None of the other criteria for bonding was present and even if they were, he was bonded already. His body reacted exactly as if someone was trying to supersede his bond with Sherlock and mating with him themselves, shuddering and shivering in revulsion and protest.

This was wrong. This was all wrong. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t be able to. But scent bonds hadn’t been fully tested, information on them still woefully inadequate and so riddled with misinformation as to be sketchy at best. Was there a case of a pregnant scent bonded being bonded to someone else against their well? Did it annul it? He thought that it…but maybe…

It was becoming foggy, drowning in the tide of instincts and, more importantly, sheer panic at what might happen to his baby. His beautiful, unborn little bundle that might never even see the world. He might never even see their tiny, scrunched up face as they wailed at being brought out of their home, never kiss their forehead as he gathered them into his arms that first time, their tiny limbs waving…never…

He reached up to dislodge the hand, grab and fling the offending Alpha as far away from him as humanly possible. Anything to –

Only to freeze when he felt the tip of a knife press against his stomach, beneath his clothing, the fingers digging in further.

“I thought I recognized that scent,” the Alpha said in a snarl that was more of a wheeze. “About the only time one can even smell you is when you’ve had a bun in the oven, and even then, you only really smelled at any distance by the time you were waddling.” He leaned in. “You made such a fuss with the last one when they came to take it. Shall we make it easy on you with this one?”

He pressed the knife in a little more to emphasize his point.

John, for his part, was fighting with his soldier training on the one hand, telling him to eliminate the threat immediately behind him as fast and efficiently as possible, and his Omega instincts saying that if he didn’t provoke this Alpha, if he was as meek and submissive as possible, then things would be alright, and he’d survive.

It wasn’t rational, but instincts aren’t always, unfortunately, and the fight to overcome them was proving a challenge even for his training. Inside his mind, the clamouring and the panic rose to a screeching cacophony as they clashed and fought.

He had no idea how long he stood there, immobile as the two points of pressure became increasingly severe.

Just as he felt nails at the glands, about to rupture something, just as he was about to scream, the pressure lifted, suddenly and completely, from both his neck and stomach. The knife never even skittered across skin.

The cacophony inside John’s mind had risen to the point that it had drowned out just about every sensory input but once the pressure lifted and he’d had a few heaving, stuttering breaths, his nose told him that a familiar and very welcome scent was behind him, drowning out the odorous reek of the other Alpha. He also vaguely realized he’d heard his name being shouted several times before he’d been released.

As he turned around, he saw Sherlock Holmes, his Alpha, his mate, with the other Alpha in his grasp, his broad, bony hands holding a clearly very tight and very painful grip on the arms of the other man. He was trying to wrestle the arms up behind his back and, it seemed, also to wrest the knife out of the man’s hand.

Looking closer at his face, it was almost unrecognizable as it twisted in utter fury, lips pulled back into a snarl that was clearly audible as well as visual. Even though he’d pulled John’s assailant several yards away from him, apparently in one go, the scent coming off him was not just unmistakable, it was overpowering and rather intimidating, which it would be to both Omega and Alpha alike.

Even restrained as he was, the other Alpha didn’t seem prepared to go quietly, fighting and twisting for all he was worth, attempting to at the same time keep Sherlock from getting the knife and ram it into him.

The brunet was staving him off, but it looked as though it took more effort than he was expecting. He was much like a rat that was cornered but somehow still capable of taking on predators much larger and stronger than it due to sheer belligerence and tenacity.

Freed, both from the physical hold, the threat and the standoff between instincts and training, John didn’t waste more time than it took to get some more breath back, let the training settle into the driving seat, and –

The training didn’t quite go out the window, but it did partner with instinctual anger when he saw the knife twist and actually press into the soft underside of Sherlock’s arm, hard enough to have blood spilling, some of which seemed to seep right into John’s vision.

“You bloody _bastard_! That’s my fucking family!” he roared, his body moving entirely under its own steam. That included his arm, which swung with more power than he realized, and his aim was true.

His fist connected with the side of the foul-smelling Alpha’s face, sending the head flying to the side and, thankfully, also sending the knife falling to the ground.

The harem owner slumped in Sherlock’s arms but that only lasted as long as it took for the body to slide, unconsciousness rendering him heavy, onto the ground, Sherlock giving him a push to help him along.

Once there, the brunet kicked him, then kicked him again, the continued snarling providing an odd auditory counterpoint to the hits.

Part of John was glad, even thrilled, to see that utter waste of space get just a smidgeon of what he deserved. Part of him would’ve been very happy to see his Alpha pummel the ever-living shit out of him. It wouldn’t be a drop in the bucket of the hurt he’d caused others, either directly or indirectly through his status as an owner.

The compassionate part saying that no man deserved such treatment, whatever their deeds, didn’t speak much above a whisper and was very soundly ignored. Such idealistic viewpoints he’d had to leave behind when he’d signed the contract, even if he hadn’t entirely been able to quash it.

However, the doctor side arguing that he could cause permanent damage that way and he didn’t want Sherlock’s first glimpse of his baby be at prison visiting hours held somewhat more sway as did the same side pointing out that the priority was making sure that gash wasn’t as severe as it appeared to be, then that Ruby was brought to a hospital or similar that could care for her medically.

Vengeance came second to his family, biological or otherwise.

So, he called Sherlock’s name as he stepped forward, not expecting to be understood. He was somewhat surprised, therefore, to see the Alpha’s head snap up almost immediately, pale eyes with pinprick pupils focusing on him at once.

John took another step forward, gratified to see the pupils slowly dilate back to a normal size as Sherlock seemed to register who he was. The scent of him also changed, lending validity to John’s assessment.

Then he had to brace himself as he suddenly had an Alpha practically launching himself at him. Long limbs wrapped themselves around him, gripping tight, and a nose, not teeth, pressed into his scent gland. He instinctually stiffened, his heart rate quickening despite his best efforts, but the touch was very gentle, unthreatening. In any case, he moved his nose almost immediately, tracing it, as gentle as before, up John’s neck and into his hair, where he inhaled deeply, repeatedly.

“Sherlock. Wait.” He tried to impart the notion that they had more pressing issues to contend with, both with his words, his tone of voice and as much of a tilt of the head that he could manage in his position. “I said, wait.”

It didn’t work. The Alpha kept nosing at his hair and inhaling deeply, his hands running up and down and everywhere on the Omega’s body within reach, in a way that could quite accurately be called panicked and a little desperate.

“Sherlock, please. Come on. You can scent me later, yeah?” He tried to reach for the roaming hand that was helping smear blood all over his clothes. “Come on, I need to look at this.”

It took a few more tries with gentle coaxing but Sherlock did release his grip on the Omega enough for John to get a closer look at the arm that had been cut, the wound thankfully shallower than it initially had appeared in the heat of the moment. Still, it was not something to trifle with.

He got Sherlock to sit down on the ground, taking off his jumper for the brunet to stop the blood flow with. Then he went to check on the still unconscious Ruby, lying exactly where he’d had to drop her, crouching down to her. A brief examination which made him close his eyes tight, swallow heavily, curse loudly and inventively and offer up a prayer to a God he didn’t believe in.

When he felt a hand at his elbow, he was amazed he didn’t jump. Instead, he turned his head to see Sherlock on his knees beside him, holding up what looked like a phone. Holding it out for John to take.

“It’s already ringing,” was all he said, the pale eyes continuously roving over the compact body in obvious lieu of doing the same thing with his limbs.

Frowning, John took the phone without comment. Once he held it to his ear, the call had already gone through.

“Mycroft?”

“What do you need, Doctor?”

Evidently, there were at least a few benefits to both Holmes brothers being not only incredibly sharp but disturbingly observant and calculating scenarios.

“I have a female Omega virgin whose forceful swallowing of unconfirmed heat-inducing pills have rendered her unconscious, with a body temperature far above regular parameters, even for heat and an average heart rate of 120, though fluctuating. Pass that on to whatever medical team you’ve got on call, as well as a cut to an Alpha’s underarm that needs disinfection and dressing, and so help me, if they do not arrive here within a very short time, I swear I’ll fucking – “

“No need for vulgarities, Doctor,” Mycroft interrupted, voice clipped. “It shall be done.” With that, he ended the call.

John wondered how they’d locate them when he hadn’t had a chance to tell them the location. Then he remembered something.

“Have you blocked Mycroft from tracking this phone?” he asked Sherlock.

“Yes. More than once.” Sherlock sniffed, childish annoyance seeping in to his tone. “Then, if he can’t find a way around it or he’s lazy, he threatens to tell Mummy that I’m being uncooperative and childish.”

“That _you’re_ being childish?”

“Yes.”

_Talk about pot and kettle_. “But that means he can track our current location?”

“Yes. Although it’s likely that it won’t be necessary.”

“Oh? How so?”

It seemed odd, somehow, to sit there, side by side in the gathering dark, two unconscious bodies around them, and discuss such things quite calmly, as though they were discussing nothing more consequential than the weather. Yet, at the same time, it seemed entirely appropriate.

“Because someone will have followed me when I departed the…” He hesitated, the pause somewhat tense “…they ought to have caught up by this point, ready to report back to Mycroft at a moment’s notice.”

“That woman who came with you?”

“No. She was fully occupied at the time.”

They were quiet for some time after that, John’s hand still on Ruby to keep a check on her while he listened for any vehicle or other indication that help had arrived, the tension and worry keeping the adrenaline circulating in his body, acting as dam or bulwark. Consequently, he didn’t notice the lethargy, cold and dizziness that he’d tried so hard previously to keep at bay, lapping at the defences, higher and higher until they started to crest and crash over it.

What felt like finally, though in reality it had been no more than a few minutes, he thought he heard the first strains of the cacophonous sound of the ambulance siren. As relief rushed over him, it eroded the dam of adrenaline.

“Are they – are they all alright?” John asked suddenly, a huge wave of guilt washing over him in the tide of the other issues coming in that it had taken him this long to even ask about his charges.

“Yes,” Sherlock answered immediately, voice quiet and surprisingly earnest, without bravado or even the normal ingrained confidence. “I made sure of that before I left, I promise. Ben can handle it. Until you get back,” he added.

“Were there any…any incidents?”

“No. They did exceptionally well, all of them, throughout the trip.”

Though relieved despite everything to worry about, John couldn’t help noting that not only was Sherlock’s phrasing increasingly gentle and considerate, his tone of voice was becoming likewise as well as gradually more…not distant, as such, but certainly fuzzy and muffled, as though he’d stuffed his ears with cotton.

“You’re…not just humouring me, are you?” he asked suspiciously, blinking a little. Sherlock shouldn’t be getting hard to see that rapidly, should he?

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you suddenly talking and behaving as though I’m fragile?” He ought to be angry, but he couldn’t seem to muster the emotion.

“I’m not.” Contradicting his words, the brunet closed the small gap between them, pulling John to him in a protective manner that was loving and paternal rather than possessive and Alpha.

Wait…loving? Really? Wasn’t that quite the big leap for…for someone who he’d realistically known for less than a day? This wasn’t some Mills & Boons novel, so for all that he knew the sentiment he himself felt was genuine – and it hadn’t diminished in the least when confronted with the real thing, quite the opposite, which was comforting – he was probably better off just assuming that it was the protective, paternal instincts rising because he now knew John was carrying his child.

_Well, that’s a load of cobbler’s if ever there was, isn’t it?_ an inner voice commented, his increasingly fuzzy brain taking an even longer time to process it than the thought it was in reaction to. _Are you really that dense or is there something in the air that’s rubbing off on you and making you thicker?_

It was the last clear, if sluggish, thought he had before unconsciousness reared up like some monstrosity from the abyss and swallowed his mind completely.

He didn’t even hear Sherlock calling his name, softly but insistently as he slumped against that tall, lean body, his own body shutting down. 

* * *

 

No, no, no, no! This couldn’t be happening. He’d gotten there in time. John had seemed perfectly fine, there had been no indication that something was amiss, and now, suddenly, without any –

But it wasn’t without any prior warning, was it? He’d been running towards his Omega for a bloody reason, knowing that there was a ticking clock attached to their separation due to the scent bond, probably knew it better than John, who seemed to be an obstinate bugger when the mood struck him, or at least better than the blond was prepared to acknowledge.

Then you added the fact that he’d arrived to the vision of another Alpha assaulting his doctor, the smell of his doctor’s fear and panic acrid in his nostrils. Both the fear and the imminent threat of a forced bonding happening had unquestionably added to the distress and strain on the scent bond.

Taking a moment that he didn’t feel like he had, he tried to assess what he’d unconsciously been deducing about John, the way that he’d acted, the smell of him, the way he’d started to unwillingly curl in on himself as he sat there.

It was oh so very obvious then.

It was just a pity that it didn’t change his thoughts or feelings about it one iota. Nor did it alter the reaction that was steadily brewing, or calm it, and it wasn’t purely his instincts, though granted, it was certainly those that were leading the charge.

A major component was the knowledge that he didn’t know what to do. Neither about the young girl, whose upcoming Heat was a heavy, pungent odour in his nostrils but one that repelled rather than enticed. John’s by comparison meagre, almost non-existent, output was alluring and appealing to him on a level that not the supplest, most beguiling young thing ever could.

But whatever his feelings on either Omega, the fact remained that he had no idea how to help them. For all his brains, he was about as knowledgeable about what to do in this situation as Anderson was about corpses or any sort of forensics, really.

If the reality that the notion of being on par with _Anderson_ , for any reason, didn’t faze him particularly wasn’t irrefutable proof that his rational mind was screaming with other concerns – mostly a litany of how John couldn’t leave him, he’d just found him, he needed him, loved him, he’d gotten there hadn’t he, he wouldn’t even contact him or their baby again if he’d just know that John was alive and well, though other things did also join the hellish choir – it would be hard to say what was. Perhaps that it was going through a disconnect from his body, instincts taking over for the mind that couldn’t.

Therefore, when the ambulances did arrive a few minutes later and the paramedics jumped out, it was to find him sitting in the grass, rocking the ragdoll body of his doctor gently, kissing him and doing what he could to give the Omega as much access to his scent as possible.

He appeared utterly ignorant of what was happening around him.

Once they started to move in close, however, that seeming placidness turned into protective aggression, snarling at them as he moved so as to shield both Omegas from them, lashing out when one paramedic tried to touch the girl.

Nobody was to take them and do them harm. No more.

“Sherlock,” called a very familiar voice that he nevertheless didn’t immediately recognize. “Sherlock, stop!”

Thankfully for both of them, his instincts recognized the equally familiar, and familial, scent as it moved up close, and it allowed them to calm down enough that he didn’t lash out when Mycroft put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

That didn’t mean he didn’t snarl at his brother or otherwise meekly accept it when the female Beta paramedic reached out slowly, gently for John’s arm, very mindful of the protective Alpha.

As a result, the grip on his shoulder tightened considerably, to the point that it shot bolts of pain through his body and reminded Sherlock that their sibling rivalry hadn’t been exclusively on the intellectual level. Moreover, it dredged up the memory of when he’d lost to his brother.

“ ** _Behave_** _,_ little brother. They’re trying to save your Omega, not harm him. **_Let them!_** ”

The command in the voice, so very rarely employed by the older Alpha since the younger’s teenage years and even then, only when no other option was available, clanged through Sherlock’s mind and disrupted the cacophonous violin screech of his panic, at least enough for him to parry orders.

The paramedic tried again, moving just as slowly and carefully as before, and this time she was allowed to touch John, though pale eyes kept following her every movement as she checked his vitals, all of which were weak. If she asked any questions, he wasn’t aware of it.

Though he had let her examine his doctor, the moment her hand reached for his scent gland he slapped her hand away hard, snarling again as he tried to pull John away from her, getting to his feet with the unconscious body cradled in his arms.

Nobody would touch that area ever again. Not unless John gave his express permission.

He moved right back into the unexpectedly unmoving body of his brother, however.

Pale eyes snapped round to look at Mycroft’s darker ones, narrowed and itching for a fight, for a chance to hurt someone the way someone had hurt his scent bonded.

That desire was snuffed out almost instantly as he saw not the anger or the dominance of an older Alpha trying to put the younger in his place but the worry and compassion of his brother, the one who’d been willing to listen, to help and plan with him, and let him be there for the event itself too, rather than put him on the side-line in favour of his duties.

“I know you don’t want anyone to hurt him, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, his voice quiet, earnest and imploring. “Neither do I. But you are hurting him right now, by not allowing him the proper medical attention he needs. If you let your protective instincts rule in this case, you do him, and yourself, an enormous and possibly grave disservice. Do you understand me?”

Sherlock gave him no answer, not immediately. He swallowed heavily, then nodded, as though it took great effort and was painful to do so.

“Don’t make me leave. Don’t separate us. I can’t…I can’t lose them, Mycroft. I _can’t._ Please!”

If the elder Holmes felt any surprise at either the plead or the unexpected pronoun, he didn’t show it. Instead, he merely gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Nobody wants to separate you. I promise you. Nobody wants that,” he said, then added, possibly for the benefit of the rational part of Sherlock’s mind still part of the drive if not at the steering wheel, possibly just for his own comfort, “and nobody would do it, in any case. The bond is fragile enough as it is, it could prove fatal if it was to be strained again.”

Sherlock blinked, slowly, a couple of times. Then his eyes darted from his brother to the limp body of John to the paramedic waiting patiently if a little anxiously, her training clearly warring with a healthy wariness for the outburst, either verbal or physical, from an evidently overly protective Alpha.

She smiled when his eyes landed on her, reassuringly, and nodded but remained where she was. He looked back at his brother, frowning as though seeking confirmation.

They’ll let you go with him, all the way there. They just need to treat him where they have the proper equipment. You won’t be separated. I promise.”

The younger Alpha nodded, seemingly surfacing a good deal more as he tightened his grip on his Omega while the paramedic reached for his feet, getting ready to move him.

“The girl?” he asked suddenly as they started to move, some neuron flaring and remembering John’s concern for her wellbeing.

“Safe,” Mycroft called back. “Anthea will be going with her in the other ambulance. No harm will come to her, either. John’s quick thinking and action have probably saved her,” he added.

Sherlock didn’t say anything more, focused completely on his scent bonded.

Which really, Mycroft reflected, was just as it ought to be.

He would deal with the immediate aftermath here.

As he walked back towards where the rest of the team and the Omegas were gathered, the umbrella swinging from his hand rather than touching the ground, he allowed himself a smile, which was soft, open, genuine, in a way that he extremely rarely allowed himself to, not even when he was alone.

His brother had always been a source of worry, not just for their parents but for his elder brother as well. It wasn’t because of any banal or bourgeoisie wish for him to settle down and start a family. Well, not that Mummy hadn’t expressed wishes for…but that was neither here nor there, really.

The point was that it was abundantly clear just how much Sherlock cared for his Omega, and it had, in the limited but very enlightening time Mycroft had seen him, seemed like John shared that sentiment. Whether either were aware of the exact depth of those emotions or not were another matter.

The important thing now was whether they would see that themselves in time and not let their pride, stubbornness and their normal reliance on only themselves get between them and ruin what they’d already build up between them.

It ought to be a doddle, given the interactions he’d seen and the evident ability to work together, quite apart from the fact that they’d scent bonded in the first place. Then again, he’d seen the doctor’s service records and he knew his brother well.

_The scent bond will only take you so far, little brother. I do hope you can convince the good doctor, once you’ve both recovered, that you’re worth staying and bonding with on your own merits rather than what biology dictates, from either of you. I would hate for my coming nephew or niece to become a bond-break child._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...were you all disappointed by who it was? Don't worry, all in good time. I promise, we'll get there. I really do. There had to be some sort of fall-out with the owners, even if he's not a major player.  
> I also know that some were either hoping for one or the other to be the BAMF one but I did want both of them to be it, and I hope that I've shown why each would play to their strengths.  
> Sherlock and Mycroft was still 'fun' to write.  
> All that said, I was actually tense writing that whole scene with John and the knife. I hope it worked, that it wasn't triggery and was believable. Goes for the whole chapter, really.  
> Gods, I'm blabbering. Sorry!


	12. Ambulances, paranoia and conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes with John in the ambulance and further into the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...apologize for the very sparse chapter summary. I really didn't know how to summarize it, stupid as that sounds. Or give it a good title, either. Brain's fried, tbh.  
> Thank you to the kind people who's left encouraging feedback and put up with my uncertainties :D

In the ambulance, it wasn’t an exactly meek and biddable Alpha the paramedics had to contend with. Not that he was violent or shielded his doctor from them completely. He was no longer that deep in his Alpha instincts, thankfully. However, everything they did was watched with an intensity and suspicion that couldn’t be anything but off-putting and at least a little intimidating to the two women trying their very best to do their job.

He had to make a conscious effort to keep at only watching them intently, he had to admit. Every time they touched John, he felt a distinct urge to push their hands away, get them off him, and he had to remind himself that they were doing this not to harm the blond or anger him but to prevent him from dying or otherwise coming to harm until they reached the hospital, their movements and decisions quick, efficient and skilful.

One of them were on the line to the hospital right then and there, in fact, dispensing the information they had so that the hospital knew what they would be dealing with.

Not that he didn’t think Mycroft would’ve already made sure that said hospital had been properly and thoroughly briefed but he appreciated the fact that they kept them up to speed on any possible development, him needing to be a presence there included.

That, along with their clear expertise and their steady handling of a dangerous situation, made the effort a little easier.

So did the fact that John was no longer completely limp and unresponsive. It was small enough that it was barely noticeable, at least not to anyone else, but the hand Sherlock was clasping in his rather tightly was occasionally squeezing back. At least, Sherlock was sure it was. Absolutely sure.

“Sir,” one of the women said, addressing him. He reluctantly lifted his head to look at her but didn’t say anything.

“Sir, we’re getting close to the hospital now and we need to – “

“I’m **_not_** leaving him.”

“No, sir, I know,” she said calmly, only traces in her scent exposing her baseline reaction to the presence of a protective, angry Alpha. “No one’s asking you to. But we do need to move him into the intensive care unit as soon as we get there, and we might need to move him into theatre if we cannot manage his condition as it is. There is a risk that his heart has taken damage by the deterioration. We will be able to ascertain that more accurately once we get to the hospital.”

“If an operation is what is needed, then do it. But there should be no sedatives.”

“Sir…”

“No. No sedatives. He’s unconscious as it is, it can hardly make much of a difference.”

“He might not stay unconscious throughout the procedure, sir, we cannot risk the potential danger that will cause.

“I can keep him calm.”

“We’ll need to sedate you too, sir, that’s why I mention it.” The unspoken words ‘ _my concern is for my patient, not for whatever partner they have’_ hovered in the air between them.

Sherlock felt his teeth clench. “He’s pregnant,” he managed to force out.

As soon as he said it, it hit him, and hit him hard, that he ought to have mentioned that as the reason for not wanting the use of sedatives rather than the reason he’d given. In fact, he ought to have said that immediately they were manoeuvred into the ambulance, so that they could’ve worked around that.

Why hadn’t he? He certainly couldn’t expect them to recognize it from John’s scent, it being as vague as it was, and it was most definitively important, if not crucial, to their work.

_Yet again you’ve let your bloody instincts lead the way rather than using your ruddy brain,_ the inner voice sneered derisively _. One might wonder why you have it in the first place._

The worst part was that he could only agree with what the voice said. Another notch on the post, ugly and looming, marking him out as an Alpha utterly unfit for having a bond mate, never mind a _child_.

Then the paramedic not only jolted him out of his thoughts and loathing, but rather surprised him by smiling in an understanding way and saying, “We knew that already. There are sedatives developed with such conditions in mind. Don’t worry, your mate and child are safe.”

He blinked at her, thrown by the comment. It was only for a moment, though.

“Mycroft informed you,” he said, his tone oddly flat. Of course, his brother had worked it out and of course he couldn’t keep his fat nose out of it, even though it was none of his damn business.

_It is, though, isn’t it? It’s not merely your son or daughter, it’s his nephew and niece._

“We were informed, yes,” she said, which was an attempt at deflection so obvious that it was a screaming admission. “It was assumed that you wouldn’t be in much of a state to assist us when we arrived, and we needed to be prepared. Well, as prepared as we could be given the very unusual circumstances.”

As if they ever could be prepared for something like that.

Possibly sensing his mood – not that it wasn’t likely evident from his scent – the other paramedic decided to pipe up, then.

“Don’t worry, Mister Holmes,” she said, overly cheerful in a way that grated on his nerves. “It’s only if the worst come to the worst that operation – “

“I _know_ that. What do you take me for, the same sort of dribbling, sheep-like imbecile that seem to populate most of this dull planet?” he snarled.

She recoiled a little at that but for the most part, she held her ground. Not that there was far she could go in the cramped ambulance, more spacious than average or not.

“To be fair, sir…you weren’t exactly the picture of sophistication and restraint when we first saw you and the image hasn’t changed that much since.”

Part of him straight out ignored that jab or tried to. The rest of him, however, felt the words like a blow to his stomach, twisting with the truth and his own anger at himself for failing to rise above his instincts when it came to John into something sickening that –

His hand was squeezed. It was weak and brief, and for a moment he was convinced he’d imagined it. Then it came again, a little stronger, and he heard his name spoken by that voice that made his lips automatically curl upwards, even if the smallness of the voice made his heart ache.

“Sherlock?” John repeated.

The Alpha leaned closer. “Yes, John?” he whispered.

“Stop…being…knotweed. Trust them…their job.”

“John – “

“I’ll…fine. Promise.” There was another squeeze.

“I can’t lose you.” Just the thought made his entire chest seize up painfully.

The ghost of a smile played across the blond’s lips at that. “Likewise…idiot.”

The last words were mumbled as John sank back into unconsciousness, whatever energy he’d had now expended. He more than likely wouldn’t even remember the conversation when, if, no, _when_ he woke back up, hopefully not after heart surgery, but it left a lightness in Sherlock that he hadn’t expected.

Come to think of it, though, that lightness was not the sort of metaphorical lightness you got from relief and joy. Rather, it was a physical lightness more closely associated with –

He looked down at his arm to find the jacket and shirt shoved up his arm, so a needle could be jabbed into a vein and it had been. How had he not noticed? It wasn’t as though it was the most subtle, undetectable of gestures and yet, he’d not detected it before the content was disgorged.

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s for your own good,” the woman said at his look of indignance and slight betrayal. “Doctor Watson’s not alone in being affected by the deterioration and you need to be checked over, too.”

“Then you should’ve done it the moment we stepped into the damn vehicle instead of waiting it out?” he asked, or rather, growled, his voice starting to slur ever so slightly. “You’d have had a much quieter and easier time working then and you could’ve more easily ascertained the effects of the deterioration on both of us rather than purely John.”

“Well, apart from you taking up less room while upright and conscious, you’ve provided details we couldn’t have gotten with you unconscious, too, and, since we’re just about to reach the hospital, we have someone to help us with getting you both out of the ambulance and into the hospital.”

She smiled. “That, and then we wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your company, would we, sir?”

He snarled at her, but the effect was weakened by the sedatives starting their work in earnest. For a wild, panic-filled moment he wondered whether she, or more likely both of them, were in reality working for Moriarty rather than Mycroft and this had all been an elaborate ruse on the part of the Irishman.

It made sense. They hadn’t actually mentioned his brother’s name, had they? Nor, with the darkness falling and his geographical knowledge of Scotland not exactly exemplar, was he sure that they were in fact moving towards a hospital, even if they now saw lights and buildings around them. They could be taking them anywhere.

The fact that Mycroft hadn’t seemed uneasy or alarmed in their presence he didn’t put much stock in. He wasn’t intimately familiar with everyone on his staff and even if he was, that didn’t exclude the possibility that one of them could be on Moriarty’s payroll, too.

But Moriarty had seemed interested in John, not merely as an Omega but as a person. Interested, of course, only in the way that a child is with a new and fascinating toy; as soon as it broke, or the novelty wore off, he’d get bored with it and toss it aside.

And that was a thought that didn’t bear thinking about in relation to John or their unborn child.

Despite his panic rising and clawing hard at his insides, he was slumping where he sat on the edge of the stretcher John was lying on. The sedatives were much stronger than anticipated, the darkness starting to engulf him.

In his last clear thought before he sank beneath the waves of it, he swore that he would kill Moriarty ten times over – and Mycroft, too, while he was at it, for allowing this to happen.

Well, not quite his last. His very last one was.

_I’m so sorry, John. I should’ve protected you and I’ve failed. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me._

* * *

When John woke, it was a slow and arduous process though not, as he might’ve expected, a painful one. Not that he could say why he might’ve expected pain, as he had no idea what had gone before him lying here.

Was he lying down? He tried to get a feeling for his body and after a while, he managed it, also ascertaining that he was indeed lying down, on a bed, with soft pillows and linen.

Then he regretted getting that feeling for although his body wasn’t in pain, as such, it was aching so badly it was almost the same thing.

It did mean he’d noticed something else as well, though; a body was pressed against his side, an arm flung over his stomach to cradle it and a nose buried into the crook of his neck. Thick hair was tickling his ear and warm breath ghosted across the skin of his throat.

His mind flickered through approximately a hundred different scenarios of why exactly he was lying in bed with a partner cuddling with him. An obvious male partner and an Alpha one, judging by the scent. Said scent seemed rather familiar but he couldn’t place it right then.

He was in a proper bed, not an army bunk. That ruled out a tryst carried out in secret while on down…wait, no, hang on, that didn’t even make sense. It had been years since he’d been discharged from the army. There was absolutely no reason that he would be in an army bunk nor in an army hospital bed.

What else could it be? It could of course be a client in the harem, but they didn’t tend to stay afterwards or if they did, they most definitely had no desire to cuddle. Traditionally, Alphas weren’t known for being the cuddling types once Heat had passed.

While that was hardly the norm anymore, thankfully, the type of Alpha that frequented harems were of that ‘traditional’ breed, as it were, and so the likelihood of them secretly being the cuddling type was remote at best.

Then what?

It suddenly came rushing back to him as he surfaced the rest of the way and recognized why the scent was familiar.

_Oh._

Not all of it came rushing, though. For instance, much as he searched his admittedly still very fuzzy mind, he couldn’t connect the dots as to how they’d ended up here, together in bed. There was no indication that he could see, smell or feel that they’d been intimate, so why was he wearing so little clothes? The last thing he could remember was…was…something about the harem building? It just didn’t compute.

_You know, you could always just ask the man instead of spinning uncertainties and speculations._

He could but that would require Sherlock to be awake and judging by his breathing and the heaviness of his limbs, it neither sounded nor felt as though he was.

However, as soon as he shifted, the breathing changed and the hand on his hip tightened and drew him even closer to the lanky body. One which was significantly more clothed than he was, which only added to the confusion.

He felt lips…no, they weren’t kissing his neck nor mouthing at it. Well, they were, but the movement of them was irregular and felt more like…words being spoken? Yes, that was it.

It was the same short sentence over and over again.

“Sherlock?” he said, though it came out more as a string of consonants. His vision was hazy, too, so he kept looking upwards.

The lips stilled instantly, and the head lifted and moved quickly so that it was directly above John’s, filling up his vision.

What stole John’s immediate attention was the expression of apprehensive confusion and the hazy, unfocused look in those pale eyes as they unquestionably struggled to take in the details so that the likely equally fuzzy mind could attempt to weave an explanation from the threads, however patchy that tapestry would end up.

As they stared at him, though, something seemed to shift and click. Then suddenly, Sherlock moved so that he was on all fours above John, in a clear effort to shield him from whatever he thought was about to befall them.

“No need for that,” came a voice from some distance away.

It was also familiar but not enough for John’s mind to fully grasp it immediately. Instead, his instincts flashed the warning of ‘intruding Alpha approaching’ which his mind then took and supplied the image of a male Alpha in a clearly expensive suit and dark hair…?

He wasn’t sure, because that didn’t seem quite right, but the name that swam up through the depths was ‘Moriarty’ and he stiffened, his hands coming up. It was with the intention of grabbing hold of Sherlock’s arms and flipping him over to protect him, though.

Omega he might be, but he was also a soldier who’d served in a war zone; he would be the one to protect the idiot civilian, the man who was unquestionably more in danger when it came to Moriarty than John was

At some later point he might ponder why the soldier instincts won out this time when before it’d been his biologically-instilled ones that had triumphed.

Sherlock, however, didn’t seem overly keen on going along with that idea and actively resisted the blond’s efforts to move him. He growled and snapped his teeth as he fought to stay above the Omega, his protective side evidently kicking in.

Not that it mattered much, really; while Sherlock had the biological advantage gifted to Alphas, John was not only the one with military training, he also had years of training handling more or less crazed Alphas. He’d been the one to handle the younger Holmes while he’d been in Rut, for crying out loud, this was no hardship.

As he succeeded in shoving the brunet off and under him, the clothes the man still wore lending some great help, though, something unexpected stretched and tore underneath a bandage that he hadn’t noticed, at least on a conscious level, until this point.

The pain shooting through him also hissed through his teeth. He tried to keep other indicators of pain to himself as he didn’t want to give the intruding Alpha any potential ammunition to use. As for Sherlock, the chance that he hadn’t clocked it, even evidently dazed as he was, was remote enough that he didn’t even bother.

Sherlock froze as the sound, and likely the smell, registered. He stared at John for a moment, eyes widening, then let out an odd noise that was caught between a snarl and a whimper. However, he didn’t attempt to roll them back over. Instead, he tried to pull John to him, in a gesture that was both rough and gentle. The Omega let him.

“I really wouldn’t advise you doing extraneous activities in your state,” the other Alpha commented, as though it was both perfectly normal and hadn’t already happened, thus rendering the comment utterly pointless.

Something clicked in John’s mind at the word choice, though. That overly stuffed, in more ways than one, way of speaking didn’t gel with John’s memory of Moriarty. The name did begin with M, though…

In the end, Sherlock solved it by growling the name. “Get out of here, Mycroft!”

“Now, Sherlock, that same advice goes for you. Both your bodies are still deep in the process of reconstituting and need all the rest you can possibly provide it.”

“I said, get out!” It was almost a roar this time.

Mycroft didn’t budge. In fact, he instead thought it a grand idea to move closer to the bed. “If you cannot remain calm, you will have to be sedated again.”

John felt the body wrapped around him stiffen as the scent changed. Then it tightened its hold impossibly, which agitated the newly reopened incision. He bit his lip hard against the pain. Something must still have come through because he felt a nose press against his temple in what could have been described as a remorseful and soothing gesture. He did not, however, let up on his grip.

“If you as much as _try_ to have either of us sedated again, I will gouge – “

“Sherlock, easy. We’re safe.”

It felt, in a way, a stupid and potentially dangerous thing to say. He did not know Mycroft nor his connections, he had no proper, logical way of knowing whether they truly were safe. The fact that somebody had cut him open was…well, really, it was more a tick in the ‘trust’ column than ‘don’t trust’ one. It was an incision which had not only been sewn up again afterwards, regardless of the fact that it had subsequently torn, but had been properly bandaged and in general taken care of as such an operation ought to have been.

If Mycroft had any ill will, either towards his brother or John, it wouldn’t any sense for it to only manifest at this point. Not so much in that he’d waited until this point but the fact that he had so greatly helped his brother in his endeavour to find the harem and John up until now. Why would that be in any way beneficial if he intended to harm them. Nor had there been any, as far as John knew, incidents between then and now severe enough to prompt it.

On top of that, sappy as it sounded and despite the seemingly petty sibling rivalry that was evident even when it didn’t rise to the surface, they did feel like brothers. In particular, there was that significant vibe of ‘older brother’ coming off Mycroft, even now. In fact, especially now.

Whether his actions were laudable or not, they’d been meant for the best, the doctor felt sure.

Pale eyes turned to him, narrowed despite their still dilated pupils. “You cannot possibly know that. You do not possess all the facts of what has happened between you falling unconscious at the manor house and waking up now.”

“Do you?” John countered.

“No.” It felt significant that Sherlock admitted that in the first place, let alone so readily.

“Can you deduce those facts?”

“…Yes.”

“All of them?”

The pause was even longer this time and when the answer came, it was not what the blond expected. “Possibly not,” he admitted. “Certainly not right this instant.”

“Right, then. As long as that’s the case, you’re no more certain than I am, probably less so, as I have my gut feeling.”

“Oh, and that’s rock-solid evidence, is it?” Sherlock said with a hint of sniff in his voice.

“No,” John conceded, the corner of his lips quirking all by itself, “but if you have time and the presence of mind to squabble about it with me, your instincts aren’t kicking into gear and taking over the driver’s seat. Therefore, the threat that your brother, and that scent, never mind the hook nose and the receding red hair, can’t belong to anybody other than him, can’t be all that great. Therefore, I trust that we are safe.”

John watched Sherlock stare at him, pupils still dilated, eyes growing progressively wider as it seemed to sink in. Then he blinked, several times, not fast, not slow, but at a speed that indicated he was processing and saving what John had said and what he must consequently have realized.

Then something odd happened.

Not that Sherlock did anything. At least not deliberately, presumably, and not physically either, in the sense that he moved. It was sensory; the Alpha scent grew a little richer, a little more pungent and…well, for lack of a better word, alluring.

That wasn’t the odd thing, not in and of itself. What made it strange was what caused it; John correctly working something out, something Sherlock didn’t seem to have considered himself for whatever reason, but more than that, he thought, that he’d questioned his Alpha on the thing he evidently prided himself on more than anything else.

Yes, he’d already worked out that Sherlock was hardly like most Alphas, let alone the stereotypes he was accustomed to dealing with in the harem, Rut notwithstanding. Still, there was some distance between that and actually…

_So, he **likes** it when I’m insubordinate? Or is it that I can match him? Well, clearly not match him, I don’t think there’s anybody who can **match** him, with the possibly exception of his brother. But still, that I’m not afraid to stand up to him and expect to be treated like an equal? Okay, I can get not minding it, perhaps even thinking it a charming character trait or whatever, but that’s…that’s clearly more than neutral or even fond contemplation. That’s…gods, I’d forgotten just how much he’s been blessed. Focus, John, goddammit, focus!_

He refocused to find not one but both Holmes brothers looking at him. Scrutinizing him, really.

Fighting the urge to utter a defensive ‘what?’, he instead asked, “What about Moriarty?”

“I might have thought you’d be more interested in the state of your own body and the causes,” Mycroft said.

It wasn’t hard to work out he was trying to avoid the subject, despite evident attempts to hide it.

“As far as I know, those two might still be connected and he’s still a threat, not just to me but to Sherlock and the rest of the harem Omegas as well. That takes priority right now.”

“Moriarty has been dealt with.”

John and Sherlock snorted in almost complete unison, though neither of them was particularly amused.

“Pull the other one, it’s got bloody bells on. I’ll believe you’ve dealt with him the day I see him rotting in a coffin and even then, I’ll be looking for tricks and other lies.”

Even from his not exactly prime position vision-wise, John could see how Mycroft’s face tightened at that. Below him, though, Sherlock gave what could be described as a pleased little rumble. John could feel the vibrations in the chest.

In any case, the expression disappeared almost as quickly as it had surfaced. However, it didn’t, as one might’ve expected, smooth out into a carefully composed and blank expression.

Instead, it softened into something compassionate and…brotherly, for lack of a better term.

“A point,” he conceded, sounding reluctant but not resentful. “Will you then believe me that he has not interfered with either of you since you entered the ambulance and neither has any harm come to any of your charges?”

“None of them?” the doctor asked, suspicious.

“None. As promised. I will have means set up for you to chat to them over video later, if you want.”

“I do. I’d also like to meet the person who’s operated on me and have them tell me exactly what’s been done and how they’ve gone about it. Someone to lay out what exact type of damage the deterioration of the scent bond has caused in both of us would be nice, too.”

It was said calmly, even politely. What it was not was deferential or submissive. In fact, the politeness was the thin glove covering steely command.

Mycroft blinked at that, once, in a way very reminiscent of his little brother. Then, of all things, a smile started to bloom on his face.

“But of course, Doctor. I shall see to it.”

With that, he turned and headed towards the door. When he reached it, he stopped and turned his head. “I know he’s a pain and a nuisance, but…please do take of my brother, won’t you…brother-in-law?”

Then he was out the door.

It was John’s turn to blink and frown as he turned his gaze back to Sherlock, who was suddenly sporting a suspiciously neutral, if not downright blank, expression. He stared back, gaze not wavering but revealing nothing, either.

In a tiny corner of John’s mind, something made the completely irrelevant note that for a man still clearly hazed by some rather potent sedatives, he was doing quite the admirable job of keeping his features schooled.

Then again, as far as he’d been able to gather, Sherlock wasn’t normally prone to emotional outbursts or a particularly easily readable face. Given that, and in conjunction with how the older brother acted too, perhaps he ought to be more surprised by the amount of sentiment he’d gotten from the Alpha up until this point.

Whatever the case, it was strange and a little uncomfortable to watch that face and see no expression. The knowledge that it was more than likely deliberate, especially given the circumstances.

“What have you two been cooking up?” he eventually asked.

“Getting you and the rest of the harem Omegas out of there, with as few repercussions as we possibly could,” Sherlock answered, voice equally neutral.

“That’s not what I bloody well meant, and you know it,” John growled. “Neither your brother nor you seem like people who, in a normal situation, let descriptors or even words in general slip, not without it being accidentally-on-purpose, at least.”

“And you’d call this a ‘normal’ situation, would you?” One eyebrow rose.

“Piss off, beanpole. You know what I bloody well mean, and you’re not going to slither out of it.”

“Out of what?”

Was it him or was there just a hint of nervousness and uncertainty peeking through, both in voice and expression? It was difficult to tell for certain. However, there was definitely…he inhaled as subtly as he could. Yes, there was unquestionably something in the Alpha’s scent that denoted nerves and uncertainty, which aided in his feeling that they were in the voice and expression as well. He’d smelled it before.

There it was again, that ability to pick up on moods and emotions through scent, beyond what was normal for a bonded pair – and they weren’t even a bonded pair!

That brought him back to the question at hand.

“Out of answering why your brother addressed me like we were already bonded. Not scent bonded, I know we are that already but bonded in the traditional, legal way that title entails and implies.”

And his suspicion and impression proved to be correct; the neutral façade cracked a little as pale eyes lowered slightly and the notes in the scent he’d noticed intensified somewhat, too.

What worried John more than a little, though, was that there was no immediate answer, which in turn also made him nervous.

“Sherlock?” he asked, softly.

Sherlock muttered something that might have been ‘I’ll damn well string you up and have you die of starvation surrounded by every single one of your favourite bakes’. It might have been something else as well, though, it was that mumbled. The fact that the brunet’s head was turned away didn’t help, either.

He didn’t seem inclined to give more of an answer than that, however, nor did he lift his gaze back up to meet the doctor’s.

John felt his own nerves ratchet up another small notch.

Why was he so hesitant about this? He’d given so many indicators since they’d met back up that he was interested in John in ways that didn’t relate either to Heat or Rut – or to their baby, for that matter. Even the most self-deprecating parts of his mind faltered under the sheer amount of hints of different kinds he’d been given, to the point where dismissing them or construing them as something else was downright stupid.

So…why?

_Please tell me, Sherlock,_ he thought _. It’s…it’s okay if you don’t want to be tied down by the legal repercussions of a normal bonding bite or are uncomfortable with the title. Just…tell me. Please._

Getting the words past his lips, though, was an obstacle too far, for whatever reason. He opened his mouth and the face in front of him froze the words in his throat.

Endless seconds passed.

Eventually, Sherlock spoke, his voice quiet to the point of being almost…small?

“Please don’t leave, John.”

The words were so out of nowhere, so unexpected that John was convinced he hadn’t heard them. Furthermore, they didn’t make sense. None whatsoever.

“Leave? Why on earth would I leave?”

The answer took an awful long time to come, though John halfway expected there to come no answer at all. More than halfway, really.

“Because you can, now.” He didn’t say anything more, as though that was all the argument needed.

If the Omega wasn’t nonplussed before, he most certainly was after. He was getting increasingly angry, too. He really wasn’t in the mood for stuff like that right now.

“…the hell are you on about? Just because I’m no longer in the harem, that means that I’m automatically going to bugger off straight away, nice to have met you, ta for the rescue but don’t call me? The buggering fuck do you take me for?”

At that, the Alpha’s head lifted to lock eyes with the Omega, some form of resolve flickering in those pale, multi-coloured eyes. “A man who deserves his freedom. To not be tied down to anyone he doesn’t want to be.”

“And who or what the ever-loving fuck gave you the impression that I didn’t want to be bonded – I’m not even going to dignify that other term – to you? How many clues do you need to get before it becomes more than evident that I didn’t merely want out of there? That I might be hoping for something more from you?”

_Good one, Johnny boy. Nothing like a good old dose of hypocrisy to win an argument, is there?_

He swallowed at that thought but stood his ground nevertheless, staring down at Sherlock as he waited for an answer.

* * *

Sherlock looked up at John, thrown by the first comment but also by the anger. Why would John be angry? He was only trying to be fair and reasonable, give John an out if he wanted it.

_Yeah, because you managed that expertly, didn’t you? Truly, you left it wide open for him, what with your first comment being, of all things, ‘please don’t leave’. You’re basically trapping him via guilt tripping._

But that was just expressing his wishes, surely? John was free to leave if that was his decision, surely there was nothing sinister or manipulative about letting him know that Sherlock would very much like for him to stay.

_No, it’s more than that and you know it. More importantly, so does he._

Somehow, with a great amount of effort on his part, he managed not to react outwardly. He even thought he managed to give a fairly reasonable answer, leaving out his internal argument.

He was mistaken, however, as it only seemed to get the former soldier angrier.

What John said, he couldn’t really argue with. There _had_ been more than enough hints that John didn’t want their scent bond annulled, that he would in fact like to…and Sherlock had certainly given out plenty of signals in turn that he would like to be…be bonded, properly. Enough, at least, that if John didn’t want the same thing, he would have plenty of opportunity to let Sherlock know.

Then again, they had been in a situation where letting the person helping you know their advances were unwanted could prove seriously detrimental, so maybe that wasn’t such an indisputable way of knowing.

If only his mind wasn’t still affected by the damn sedatives like this!

He tried to concentrate.

Now, though…now there was no reason for John to stay if he didn’t want to, nothing that obliged him to. Well, apart from the scent bond that hadn’t been broken, of course…

“You would…a bond…really? With me?” The words, the questions, were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them, a chance to think it through.

Which might be just as well, and not just because allowing himself to think it through would, in the circumstances, not necessarily prove beneficial; John’s expression morphed from wary anger into something softer and warmer, though there remained a smidgeon of wariness, which he couldn’t really be blamed for.

“You really need to ask that?” he said, voice quiet. “You’re supposed to be a detective and a genius. Surely you knew that already, all things considered. You must have.”

Sherlock shook his head, slowly, keeping his eyes on John, looking for any expression that might suggest it wasn’t true.

“People don’t like me, at the best of times,” he said.

John frowned slightly again. “Why not? Apart from the whole superior attitude, of course, and the Alpha arrogance.”

Sherlock snorted despite himself. “Quite. People don’t tend to see beyond that, though.”

“Well, people are idiots.”

“That is true.”

There was silence for a moment or two.

“We’re idiots, too, aren’t we?” John said, eventually.

The Alpha noted that though he wasn’t smiling, there were crinkles at the corner of his eyes and his tone was warm and amused. It felt…inclusive, as though he had a special secret that he was letting Sherlock be part of.

He felt his heart lift as it beat a little harder.

“I suppose we are,” he replied.

Another few moments of silence.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“I would…if you don’t mind…I’d very much like you to be _my_ idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...you may have noticed that I've removed a tag (though almost certainly not). I'm slightly tired of being told what 'dominant John' ought to mean, so I've removed it, even though I believe it still fits. :)  
> I...feel like nothing's happened and yet it's 6k words. Sorry about that. It just flowed like that on its own, more or less, and I liked what came out, for what it's worth. I like going back and forth between them and their internal struggles. Hope it wasn't too much of a disappointment :) Things planned for the next one, so stick with me?


	13. Together, explanations, support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John finally get to the same page on where they'd like to be in terms of their relationship and they get some explanation of what the scent bond and their separation has done to John's body, passenger and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys really are the sweetest, thank you! I know I say it often but I mean it and it makes a difference.  
> Mariamu, if you're still reading...a little trigger warning for you, I think, is in order.  
> Enjoy some explanation with more made up science stuff. That was fun to write, strange as that may sound.

Despite everything that had gone before, despite the reassurances just now, Sherlock couldn’t help feeling both extremely nervous and apprehensive as soon as he’d uttered the words. If there was even the smallest risk that he’d misread the situation – and if there was one area where he was most prone to get the result wrong on, it was the social, or rather the interpersonal, one – then he might have screwed up what he’d tried so hard to grasp.

Yet, at the same time, he was hopeful. In fact, the hope was gradually but surely winning out against the nervousness and apprehension, much as they clung on, helped even more when he did remember all the hints he’d gotten, the way they’d interacted and, more importantly, worked together since they’d been reunited and everything else.

Seen in that light, the nervousness was absolutely, utterly ludicrous and oughtn’t even have reared its head. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny that for all the ways in which they’ve clicked, they had in actual fact spent rather little time together. Yes, that time had been rather eventful, and impactful and meaningful, too, far more than he would ever have expected, if he was being honest.

However, it still was an undeniably very short amount of time, and he couldn’t quite quell the fear that John would grow to resent the bond and consequently Sherlock once they spent enough time together for him to realize just what sort of person Sherlock was, and what sort of life he lived.

Not that he’d been able to showcase exactly the most favourable aspects of himself to John, really. Still, though, there was a vast difference between this and living together day-to-day, being a bonded pair. Even without counting the child, it would mean such a change – was he even ready for that? Was he _capable_ of that?

How long would it be before John, his brave, headstrong, skilled, no-nonsense, capable, caring John, would see for himself that Sherlock wasn’t capable of being what he needed, let alone what he wanted?

A hand being placed ever so gently on his cheek brought him out of the chasms beneath his Mind Palace he had begun to traverse, hard and fast.

_Amazing. I have never ever known anyone to be able to do that so consistently and effortlessly._

“When you ask me something like that, it’s not fair of you to do a runner straight afterwards, you know, even if it’s into your own mind,” John said, his voice low but full of amusement and undeniable warmth.

“I wasn’t running.”

It was an immediate knee-jerk reply that he regretted the moment it was past his lips. Though it really was more of a retreat than an outright runner, the point stood, and he had no real excuse for doing it.

Thankfully for him, John merely snorted. “Sure you weren’t, love. Sure. Call it a tactical retreat, then, or whatever you’d like. Fact of the matter is, you went away almost as soon as the words had left your mouth.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…it wasn’t that I don’t…”

The soft crow’s feet wrinkles at the corner of the Omega’s eyes grew more pronounced as John smiled and Sherlock’s heart grew a little warmer, even as his voice trailed off.

“I kinda figured. It’d be a bit ludicrous to have that many opportunities not to say anything, to think the better of it, and then only think about after you’ve offered.”

“You did just call me an idiot.”

_But he also just referred to you as ‘love’, didn’t he?_

“True. There’s something about pot and kettle in that, I’ll grant you. But…” He leaned down, but it wasn’t to kiss, as the brunet might have expected. Instead, he brought his lips up to an ear to whisper, “On one condition, I think I’d like being your idiot, too.”

Sherlock’s heart did the oddest attempt at both sinking and leaping all at once at that comment. What condition would that be?” he asked, trying for calm.

Teeth nipped at the spot just beneath the ear, not hard but enough to send a hard shiver through the Alpha. “That you’ll be mine, too. Utterly and completely.”

The voice, which had dropped a little, as well as the words sent another hard shiver through Sherlock, along with a jolt of pleasure. That, he had to admit, was rather unexpected though not unwanted in any way.

“You see,” John continued, his voice containing just a bit of a growl, “that whole idea that an Omega can only be possessive in a dependent, clingy way…that’s not just outdated, it was never universal. You sure you’re fine with that?”

“Yes…Captain,” Sherlock gasped, realizing as he said it that that was just it. That was the difference.

This was not John the Omega, John the keeper of the harem or even John the doctor. This was John the _soldier_ ; the man who’d risen to a relatively high rank within the army despite his secondary gender and its limitations, who’d gone to war and not just kept himself alive but so many others, too.

Another realization hit him, then. Now that he was free of the harem – not that he was likely to ever have been entirely a mere meek, biddable pawn while there, either; never that, no matter how downtrodden or despondent he might’ve been and, as far as Sherlock had been able to deduce, had gotten in the years he’d been there – he would return more fully to the man he’d been before, with the complexities no longer suppressed. At least no more so than the consulting detective could spot them, which sent joy through him.

The important point about that right now, he was not afraid of taking charge, regardless of Sherlock’s secondary gender. Another jolt of pleasure coursed through him and he only just suppressed a moan.

“Yes,” he repeated, sounding a lot surer and far more assertive this time, then watched as John’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Had the blond really not expected Sherlock to be okay with that? No, it was more likely that he wasn’t expecting the strength with which he’d spoken the word.

He was about to say more but before he could, or indeed confirm, quite enthusiastically, that he’d be happy to have John in whatever form that was, and even more so if it was something approaching a mate-arrangement, the door opened again.

In stepped a doctor, judging by the smell of him as well as the bearing, though as this was a hospital of Mycroft’s choosing, and therefore with a dependence, he didn’t exude the normal ‘I don’t really have the time to be here so I’ll make this as quick as possible’ air that was usually accompanied by a string of long words the patient wasn’t meant to understand then a patently plastered-on smile of reassurance and they hurried off to the next unlucky hospital incumbent.

At least, that was Sherlock’s experience with the idiots.

“Well, then,” the doctor, the _other_ doctor, said, advancing slowly but without hesitance.

He didn’t bother with an overly cheerful attitude, either. Rather, he exuded quiet confidence and, more importantly, competence. It was a combination that only ever appeared in Betas who’d made it in the world. “It seems that you’ve ruined my craftwork, Doctor Watson.”

Sherlock watched as John focused on the other man, assessing the other doctor, the other surgeon, eyes narrowed, and half-expected some remark along the lines of ‘if it was that easy to ruin it, it must’ve been rather shoddy craftwork to begin with’.

He didn’t. Instead, he rose up a little from his position on top of Sherlock. The Alpha allowed it, though he didn’t entirely relinquish his hold. A quick sideways glance informed him that yes, John had noted it and what was more, the momentary flash of the blue eyes said it wasn’t for Sherlock to allow him up or not.

“I’ve only done a quick, physical assessment outside the bandage but based on that, it appears that your craftwork was good enough that it hasn’t entirely torn. Consequently, it’s bled relatively little.”

“Coming from an expert, I’ll take that as both reliable information and a compliment,” the hospital doctor replied with a small smile. He held out a hand and John took it, shaking it. “My name is Doctor Callum. I’d still like to examine you. Only if you are amenable, of course.”

It didn’t sound deferential or like the usual minion that Mycroft had; bright enough to do their job sufficiently but enough of a worker bee not to follow question. Instead, it resembled somebody respectful of their colleague.

Sherlock felt a blooming pride at that. Somebody was recognizing John for his work, for his career, for him as a person, not as a secondary gender. Which was as it should be but long overdue. John deserved all the recognition in the world.

_Does he now? Even when it would mean his focus wouldn’t be on you?_

Yes, of course!

_Truly?_

“Of course,” John said, coming up into a full sitting position on the hospital bed. Sherlock followed him but made extra sure that it wouldn’t be interpreted as another attempt to dictate what the Omega did. Instead, he settled himself behind John, so that his legs were on either side of John’s but that they otherwise touched as little as possible.

He’d be there for John to lean against, physically and mentally, if he needed it and only if he needed it; the Omega should know that Sherlock did indeed consider him an equal. That wouldn’t be all it took, _obviously_ , but it would be a start. Another step to show John that he could be right.

Though the blond focused his attention on the other doctor and didn’t verbally acknowledge the gesture, a hand moved to land just above his knee, giving a little squeeze.

“Well, then, doctor. Do your job.”

 

* * *

 

Doctor Callum couldn’t be called anything but thorough. Though John’s assessment turned out to be almost entirely correct, he still checked the reopened cut exhaustively, which Sherlock quite clearly found to be rather tedious, not to mention dragging. He didn’t say it out loud, but it wasn’t difficult to guess from the tension in his body.

John, however, let the man do as he needed to. It was important, for one, and for another, it gave both of them a chance to ask each other questions, Callum’s tending more towards interest towards the formation of a scent bond like theirs, not to mention the upkeep of it, and the cause of John’s bullet wound, the latter of which the former soldier resolutely kept shtum about.

In turn, he asked about what exactly they had done to, it appeared, stop the further deterioration of the scent bond and why it had been necessary to operate.

The explanation he eventually managed to get wasn’t quite as thorough as he’d have liked but still more than he had expected.

The scent bond was keyed into not only their scents on their own, in their scent glands, without the need for it to be broken and one’s blood and the other’s saliva to mix, but also the area of the kidneys that was responsible for pheromone and related hormone productions in relation to secondary gender and its circulation into the bloodstream. It was far more prominent in Omegas and Alphas than Betas and accounted for a large amount of the dafter things that those particular secondary genders did, at least when it came to biological matters.

But while the normal, regular scent bond also got affected by what the renes minor pumped out, it was more a one-way street. Apart from the initial breaking that formed the bond, the renes minor was the instigator, as it was.

The scent bond, by contrast, had the ability to also affect the renes minor, and that was at the same time its strength and its liability. Its strength because it made it that much more difficult to break or even tarnish, though it was not the only factor in there and didn’t entail it being completely unbreakable, as the deterioration proved. Its liability because what occurred in the scent gland or with the scent bond itself could negatively impact not merely the renes minor but the rest of the kidneys as well. That, in turn, could create a domino effect impacting the rest of the body.

When there was a strain on the scent bond, for instance through separation and consequent lack of access to the other’s scent notes, the renes minor would produce more, which at first would be beneficial but for prolonged periods could prove disastrous if said strain remained. There could both be sent large enough amounts to send the bond into shock or it could be redirected elsewhere.

The further complication came from the fact that they’d not just managed to establish a scent bond between them in Sherlock’s Rut but get John impregnated at the same time as well.

In the end, that fact had been the deciding factor in whether they were going to operate or not. It was dangerous to operate on such an integral and vital part of the body but with the health of the baby to consider, and John too, had they not, the question seemed rather moot.

“And what exactly has been removed, then?” Sherlock asked, his voice and scent laced with panic and distress, at least to the blond.

John thought he understood the reason for those emotions. While the scent bond seemed to still be there – it certainly felt that way – the fact that it was…something approaching nebulous rendered such feelings, such intuitions imprecise and unreliable. Something which neither of them was particularly happy about, to put it mildly.

“Nothing has been removed,” Doctor Callum assured, speaking in that same calm voice, the one that both reassured and irked John, even though he knew the latter was rather irrational and unfair. “Well, nothing that should have been there in the first place. The renes minor had created what can best, or at least as succinctly as possible, be described as a stone as a result of its overproduction. One which has been slowly but surely poisoning your system and contributing to the deterioration.”

“Contributing? Not causing?”

Doctor Callum made a slight grimace at that, his first since he’d come in. “To be honest with you, we don’t know where the line between those two occur when it comes to scent bonds. So many things are unknown quantities or understood small spots in a web of complexities. The whole field is still, relatively speaking, in its infancy, both due to the scant number of cases and the even smaller number of people willing to openly acknowledge it, let alone be willing to let us study them.”

Sherlock snorted at that, in a way that John was starting to recognize as a wordless version of ‘of course not, you imbecile, must you be this stupid?’. He didn’t say anything out loud, though, which surprised the blond.

“That really doesn’t inspire much confidence in the work you’ve done here,” John himself commented, only the opened incision keeping him from crossing his arms over his chest.

“If he wasn’t as competent as it is possible to be within the particular field of study, he wouldn’t have been operating on you,” came what was unmistakably Mycroft’s voice from the door.

He didn’t make any indication that he intended to move into the room, which was probably just as well, judging from the way Sherlock had reacted previously.

“Do go on, Doctor,” Mycroft said, his voice calm and even pleasantly polite but that was the silk glove thinly covering the steel of command, further enhanced by his scent.

It was certainly sufficient to make the Beta cower more than he probably would’ve liked to let on, and John briefly wondered why it wasn’t affecting him. Not that it wasn’t affecting him as _much,_ that he’d understand, just from having been forced to deal with so many both in the harem and in his military career. What puzzled him was the fact that it didn’t seem to affect him _at all,_ even though it was enough to have a marked effect on the Beta, someone who wasn’t as strongly affected as Omegas normally.

Could it have something to do with it being so close to Sherlock’s scent and that overruled it? Possibly, but that needed further research.

“Right. Okay. Yes. Well, whether it is a contributing factor or the solitary cause, we do not know for certain, as I said. What we do know is that said stone comprised of not just pheromones and hormones in excessive quantities but several toxins as well. If it wasn’t removed when it was, there was not only the danger posed by it continuing to exude poison into your bloodstream but the overwhelming risk that it would dislodge and move into said bloodstream, where it could lodge, for instance, in the arteries of the umbilical cord.”

Feeling suddenly quite significantly nauseous and waxen, John closed his eyes tight and tried to breathe as slowly and as steadily as he could through his nose. Though he himself didn’t move, he felt the body behind him shift closer and slowly, almost gingerly wrap its arms around him, and he allowed them to. He couldn’t say he didn’t need them terribly at this point.

The thought…the mere _thought_ that he’d been in imminent danger of losing his child, losing _another_ child, had him feeling sick to his stomach. The fact, the knowledge, that he’d done nothing wrong and neither had Sherlock, that they’d had no possible way of knowing exactly what it could do…it didn’t really help a lot, if at all.

Doctor Callum, seeming to realize his faux-pas in terms of how he’d presented it, went silent and took a step back, the move detectable by the sound it made, clearly at a loss as to how he ought to behave in uncharted waters like this.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice was right beside his ear.

John didn’t answer. His hand above the knee curled into a fist, nails digging hard into the soft flesh of his palms.

He should’ve been able to see it, too, to spot it. Ought to have done something about it long before now. He’d known that the scent bond was deteriorating, for crying out loud! Callum wasn’t the only bloody surgeon around here, was he? He should’ve –

A nose pressed itself, gently, behind his ear. Equally gently, soft lips touched below that, at the point where his jaw began, the gentle movement of them indicating speaking, though it wasn’t very audible. Neither was demanding nor pushy; they were merely gentle reminders that John wasn’t alone, that he had the support and understanding he wanted and needed, if he needed it.

In what was probably the same way as when he’d done it back when they’d found and retrieved the contracts, John found that Sherlock’s presence, his physical touch and the almost-inaudible voice helped centre and ground him, brought him back from where and what his mind was spiralling towards.

It reminded him that although he was no shy, meek, biddable Omega trinket, he was no god doctor, either, capable of curing every wrong, knowing every little thing about every possible medical issue. He couldn’t know every contingency, be prepared for every eventuality.

He hadn’t meant to have a scent bond with anyone, let alone someone like Sherlock Holmes, and he certainly hadn’t planned on getting pregnant, not inside a place that had proven itself capable of forcefully separating him from one child already.

This was not his fault. Feelings weren’t rational, he was perfectly aware, but this ranked high on the scale of utterly ludicrous things to beat oneself up about.

He leaned back, into the contact, trying to communicate his gratefulness, not sure he’d be able to get it across.

It seemed to do the trick; he felt the cupid bow lips widen in a smile before they pressed a little harder for a kiss.

“If you’re _quite_ finished, then perhaps Doctor Callum can get on with it,” Mycroft said, voice dry.

John could feel Sherlock’s rumbling growl of warning all down his neck and through his own chest, and though he didn’t say anything out loud, he most certainly shared the sentiment.

He needed this, needed to feel this and Mycroft was smart, wasn’t he? Surely, he could see that –

 _How exactly would he?_ his inner voice asked. _Has he suddenly developed telescopic eyes? No? He’s still standing at or near the door, you can tell that by the distance of the voice and the fact that there’s been no sounds of steps. Ergo, you’ve got your back to him and have Sherlock sitting between you and him, shielding most of you. Therefore, he cannot see the distress on you and on Sherlock it might as well be annoyance. As for scent, you still don’t have much of one and Sherlock’s just signalling aggression and protectiveness, neither of which are enough to determine something on their own_.

He was supposed to be clever, be observant, though.

_Yes, he is, and yes, it’s reasonable to assume you might be upset but not that Sherlock’s presence, his touch, is grounding you as much as it is. That is something between the two of you, something no one else has been privy to or been made aware of. Mycroft isn’t psychic, as that’s not possible, and you had better hope to God and every other deity that he hasn’t found a way to do surveillance without cameras._

_Put it like this; if you saw Harry and Clara, or whoever she might be shacked up with at the moment, sitting like this, being touchy-feely like this in a situation you deemed serious and you wanted to, presumably, resolve that situation as quickly as possible, you'd make a similar comment. Hell, if we’re being honest, completely, brutally honest, your comment wouldn’t have been as civil as that, would it?_

So, choosing not to waste his time, he turned his attention back to Doctor Callum. He took a deep breath through his nose, straightened up and mentally shook himself into more of a doctor mode.

“And now that it’s been removed, how much damage can we expect the foetus to have suffered, and in what areas?”

He heard the small but sharp intake of breath just behind him and felt the lanky body tense up.

Had Sherlock not thought about that? It seemed not. It could of course just be that he hadn’t had…no, he would’ve thought of possibilities the moment he got new data, of course he would. Why, then? Had hearing it spoken aloud brought with it some unexpected reality and pain, given his indications earlier that he wanted the child? That…seemed very plausible, if nothing else.

_Well, there’s that and the fact that you’re the one with the professional knowledge. Even if he is a genius, this is your area of expertise, at least more than it is his._

Doctor Callum didn’t answer immediately. After a moment of clear indecision, his shoulders sagged slightly, and he sighed.

“I...I cannot say for certain. This is complete uncharted territory, to my knowledge, a scent bond in combination with a pregnancy. While there shouldn’t be any complication – the deterioration had only, when you were brought in, reached the point where the stone would begin to move within the previous 36-48 hours, and thankfully there’s unequivocal evidence not only that it wasn’t heading in the direction of the umbilical cord, but that it was halted by the physical presence of the bonded Alpha’s scent notes – I cannot in good faith say that for certain. We will need to keep you here for observation for at least the foreseeable future, to make sure – “

“Oh, that’s the sole reason? It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’re practically salivating at the prospect of examining and cataloguing such a positively unique specimen?” Sherlock interrupted as he lifted his head, his voice sharp enough to cut.

Out of the corner of his eye, John could see the Alpha was glaring, his eyes slightly narrowed, and his lips pulled back a little in the start of a sneer, or maybe a snarl.

“Well, of course there is an element of scientific discovery to such an observation, it really is quite unheard of for both scent bonding and impregnation to occur at the same time,” Doctor Callum said, his professionalism edged aside by scientific curiosity, “quite apart from the decline in fertility an Omega of his age should’ve experienced, which only makes it more fascinating.”

The arms around the blond tightened considerably and now the snarl was audible as well as visible.

“You as much as try touching him again, I promise I will – “ the baritone voice started to say, but was interrupted.

“Sherlock!”

It was Mycroft, not John, who uttered the name, voice sharp and commanding.

However, what was interesting to the Omega was that though Mycroft clearly intended it as a warning, at the same time, he moved from the door, his steps quick and sure. More importantly, when he stopped, it was between John and Sherlock on the bed and the doctor standing in front of them and it was facing the doctor, his figure seeming to gain if not height, then still somehow stature.

 _Once the big brother, always the big brother,_ John couldn’t help thinking. He felt his heart warm significantly at the gesture and towards Mycroft in general.

However, the thought that both Alphas believed he needed protection was both annoying and ludicrous. He could bloody well take care of himself, he didn’t need to be coddled, especially not in front of a whelp like this who thought he could –

A thought slammed into his current train, derailing it quite efficiently.

_They’re not protecting or shielding you because they think you can’t do it yourself. You know them better than that, or at least you ought to. Look at them! Scent them! They’re not standing in front of you, you imbecile, they’re standing with you! Let that moronic, obstinate pride have a rest for just one ruddy moment and let them!_

He…didn’t have much of an argument against that.

So, instead he turned his attention to the doctor who thought he could easily be browbeaten into doing whatever.

Yes, so he didn’t have the niche expertise on scent bonds or the complications thereof, but he was a doctor, he had the degree and the hours, and he had been guiding more Omegas through pregnancy and birth than he cared to remember, at least within the harem.

That wasn’t even mentioning his stint as a junior doctor at the maternity ward; for whatever reason, or rather, for some very recessive and honestly reprehensible reasons, Omega junior doctors were, at the time he trained, required to work for at least half a year in the maternity ward of a hospital. Though not spoken aloud, it was in a blatant attempt to influence said young Omegas to choose to become a neonatal specialist, a paediatrician or better yet, give up their studies to become full-fledged doctors and instead choose midwifery as a career.

Not that there was anything wrong with being a midwife, of course there wasn’t, but it was hard not to view it as a way to keep Omegas in traditionally domestic roles within a workplace – the ones advocating they should stay at home period were dwindling in numbers even then – while not wasting the education that had been lavished upon them by the system.

What he had a problem with was people’s attitudes, in short, not the work itself.

The point was that he didn’t need to be kept in for observation for however long Callum and the rest deemed him a fascinating specimen! He could take care of things himself, dammit.

Yet…when he parked his anger long enough to think about it, he couldn’t deny he understood, to some extent, why they’d want to.

Granted, that extent was small, to say the least, when he thought about it even further. There was a time and a place and if they put scientific discovery, and thereby possibly also a desire for fame and peer acknowledgment, above the health and safety of their patient, then he didn’t have much patience or respect for them.

All of this flashed by in his mind in an instant.

He looked at the other doctor.

“I have no intention of letting you or your colleagues do whatever they’d like to me or letting you touch me any further, either. You’ve fulfilled the role you have expertise in, I had, and have, no problem with that. The rest concerning our child is up for me, and my bond mate, to decide. What happens to my body apart from that is nobody’s business but mine, however, and if I catch a whiff of any of this going beyond these walls, I’ll show you just how interesting a trained surgeon with a severe tremor can perform surgery.”

He smiled, without any real humour, at Callum’s expression. “You understand. Good. I did have you pegged as a bright one. Now, I’d like some rest.”

Mycroft turned to face the two on the bed.

“An excellent idea, Doctor Watson,” he said, smiling in a kind and one might almost say caring way. “When you wake, the means to contact your charges will be available, as promised, and in the meantime, guards will ensure your safety.”

“I can ensure his safety just fine,” Sherlock growled.

The smile faded, and one eyebrow rose as Mycroft turned his gaze on his brother. “I am not questioning that, little brother. However, not only do you yourself require actual, proper rest right now, additional security measures are required on this.”

John might be mistaken but he thought that the look the elder Alpha gave the younger was something akin to ‘let me look after you’. It would certainly fit with Mycroft’s previously exhibited behaviour, even if he was also still the imperious know-it-all.

It took a few moments, but John also thought he felt the body behind him release some of its tensions. He certainly heard the cessation of the growl previous rumbling faintly through the chest and he could see the very small nod.

Doctor Callum looked between them, opened his mouth to say something, thought the better of it and, with a small bow towards Mycroft and a lingering glance at John out of the corner of his eye, made himself scarce, rather quickly, too.

Once they were alone, Mycroft addressed his brother again. “I think we should leave the dear doctor to get some rest.”

“You just proclaimed I needed rest as well,” Sherlock replied. He didn’t tighten his hold again. Instead, he began to tug as though to drag John back with him, possibly to prove a point, possibly just to end an argument he didn’t feel like having.

Mindful of the incision this time, though, John resisted the effort and the Alpha didn’t increase the vigour of his tugging.

“Whatever you need to say, you can say it here, in front of both of us, surely?” John asked, reminding himself not to be irked by the attempt to leave him out. It didn’t entirely work.

The elder Holmes opened his mouth, stopped, narrowed his eyes for a moment, then sighed, a tad overdramatically, if the blond was any judge.

_Well, they **are** brothers, aren’t they?_

Then, of all things, it was Sherlock who spoke up before the redhead could. “John, you’re exhausted.”

“So are you.” _Argument invalid._

“Yes, that’s true,” the brunet conceded. He leaned forward to press a kiss behind John’s ear. “However, I’m not the one who’s been most affected by the deterioration, I haven’t just been through surgery and have a reopened incision and, most importantly, I’m not the one with a very precious passenger inside of me. I believe that against that, my tiredness is miniscule and can more easily be postponed in its treatment.”

John wanted to argue, wanted to claim that it wasn’t a problem, that he could handle it. If he was being truthful and ignored that knee-jerk reaction that, to be honest, was not exclusively helpful, he realized that Sherlock had not just one but three very good points and that to argue against it would be beyond foolish and…well, obstinate for the sake of it, quite frankly.

He got another kiss, to the back of the neck and had the unbidden, flashing thought that he really could become used to these gentle caresses. Along that came the unpleasant thought that he ought to savour them while they lasted, which he tried to ignore.

“I’ll join you as soon as I can, and I’ll tell you all of it when you wake, I promise.”

It ought to have sounded like those kinds of promises you make with children to get them to comply, and to some extent, it did. What elevated it from that, however, was the way it was spoken, low and almost intimate, as though it was a secret between the two of them.

Not that Mycroft couldn’t very likely work it out if he hadn’t heard but the gesture meant a lot.

Actually, when he thought about it, that was much truer than he initially considered. Sherlock was not merely looking after him, taking care of him and their child in the best way circumstances allowed, as fitted within the role of the Alpha, even if a lot of them took that to mean being a dominating, controlling tyrant. He was also taking John’s wishes and feelings about how he was treated because of his secondary gender into account and working them into said care, trying to accommodate both.

 _Trying to please you and make you happy, even in such a small circumstance,_ his mind supplied.

He turned his head a little to get a better look at the Alpha and got a small kiss on his nose for his trouble.

“If I wake up to find both of you all gone without a trace, then I’ll – “John began.

“Find me, just like you did the first time,” Sherlock finished for him, with another kiss to punctuate it. Really, he was being quite unexpectedly generous with them right now. “Though it’s hardly going to be relevant.”

The words ‘I won’t leave you unless you ask me to’ were unspoken but John somehow heard them nevertheless.

After one last kiss to his lips, the Omega felt the arms release their hold on him, slowly, almost reluctantly, the rest of the lanky body somehow managing to slither off the hospital bed in a way that should’ve come off as awkward and gangly but instead seemed effortlessly graceful.

The brunet also managed to walk out the room with as much flair as if he’d been wearing his coat. This was despite the fact that, though he wasn’t in hideous patient garb, he was down to very rumbled trousers, bare feet and no shirt. His hair was dishevelled instead of artfully tousled and yet…

Mycroft lingered for a moment and gave the doctor a visual onceover. John again fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest.

“I do hope you’ll allow me to help provide for my niece or nephew – “

“I… _we_ can provide for our child just fine, thank you.”

“Undoubtedly. However, as I have no intention of breeding myself, I won’t bypass this opportunity to spoil a child rotten.” He leaned closer, supporting himself on his umbrella. “Besides, I think that much is a fair concession in exchange for assistance locating their sibling.”

John went pale. Then he grabbed hold of Mycroft’s tie, dragging him down. “You mean you know where she is?” he growled.

Mycroft blinked but didn’t otherwise seem thrown. “Sadly, no, I do not. If I did, I promise you I would’ve informed you and have people working on retrieving her.”

John lessened his grip on the tie but didn’t entirely relinquish it. “Why? I mean, your brother’s child, that I can understand, but why would you have any interest in whatever other offspring his chosen Omega might have birthed previously?”

The redhead gave what could only be called a soft and amused snort. “Your previous experiences in the military and the harem have given you a quite understandable, if rather eschewed, negative view as regards Alphas. I have no wish to keep a child separated from a biological parent who wants it.”

“That goes for all, does it?” After all, he wasn’t the only Omega within the harem who’d been forcefully separated from his child

“But of course,” said the Alpha, straightening back up, John letting go of his tie at the same time. “Only for those who have a wish to be reunited, though, obviously.”

“And what will you demand in return for that from them?”

“From them? Nothing. From you? Merely what I’ve already outlined, which I don’t think is an unreasonable or insurmountable request to fulfil.” He readjusted the tie, one-handed. “I do have a desire to protect and see my brother happy, which I am sure you can understand. That does not mean I don’t care to see my brother-in-law happy as well.”

“You don’t know me.”

A brief smile flitted across Mycroft’s face at that, one that said that something that wasn’t very funny had nevertheless amused him. “Quite so. Interesting, isn’t it? Now you really ought to get that sleep.”

With that, and a little nod, he followed his brother out the door, closing it behind him.

John followed him with his eyes all the way. Then, when the door closed, he sighed as he felt his body deflate a little, the tension starting to leak out of him as his body realized that not only was it no longer being poisoned, it was the protected rather than the protector and could therefore afford to relax, even if it was just a moment.

Just…for the…moment…

 

* * *

 

It was quite the wonder that Sherlock kept silent and was still waiting outside when Mycroft finally came out into the hallway. Well, not really. He’d promised John that he wouldn’t be far away and that he would tell him all about it when he woke. Both of those required him to stay put and to listen to his brother when he did speak.

That didn’t mean he had to stand there meekly like a public-school boy waiting obediently outside the head’s office for his scolding.

“I thought you said we ought to leave John to get his rest,” he said by way of greeting when his brother finally showed, closing the door softly behind him.

“Indeed, and so we are. Doctor Watson just had a small question for me beforehand.”

“You know I’ll find out what that question was soon enough, so out with it.”

“And spoil your fun in working it out? I think not.”

“What do you want, Mycroft?”

“I want to know what you intend to do now.”

Sherlock raised an unimpressed, unconvinced eyebrow at that and sneered slightly.

“Not in regards to John…I mean, Doctor Watson. Anyone with a nose could tell your intentions there.”

“Yes, and it would hardly be something you thought John needed shielding from.”

“Not shielding. Just…letting him have some well-earned, proper rest for a change. He will need it in the time to come.”

Feeling his annoyance and impatience grow in the face of his brother’s undoubtedly deliberate obtuseness, Sherlock snapped, “Just get to the point. What is your _deal_?”

“I have none, little brother, not with you. the fact that you – “

“What is your deal with Moriarty? That is what this is really about, isn’t it? You aren’t worried about his pregnancy or even the retaliation from the harem owners. You’ll _enjoy_ that, pulling that apart peer by peer. But you weren’t expecting Moriarty to have become part of it.”

Nor were you.” It was half calm statement, half sibling-ish accusation.

No,” Sherlock conceded, “I wasn’t, nor was I expecting him to have known of John. But it doesn’t make sense, so I ask you, what is your deal with him?”

I have made none.”

_As if can’t tell that’s a blatant lie. Then again, that’s probably the point. We’re in public here. Well, bugger that._

“He wouldn’t have left us alone after all that, not after merely one meeting. That wouldn’t be interesting or fun. But what makes it even more puzzling is that he hasn’t touched us. Not really. Emotional distress for John, yes – and he will get payback on that, with all the interest I can devise – but nothing life threatening.”

“You don’t call this – “Mycroft waved a hand, to encompass the room behind him and all the implications within – “life threatening?”

“Well, yes,” Sherlock conceded, in a tone of voice and with grimace on his face that both seemed more to do with worry for his Omega than annoyance of being corrected. “But not a spectacle, not a proper one, which is what he wants.”

“You suddenly seem very sure of what he wants.”

The brunet smiled, without humour. “I think I can hazard an educated guess, given the circumstances,” he said, with a sweeping a hand downwards over himself.

Mycroft stepped closer to his brother. “You are not him,” he said, his voice soft but insistent as he gripped a bony shoulder.

He got no answer. “You are not, Sherlock, do you understand me?” There seemed to be some urgency, some insistent imploring which was unusual, to say the least, from his brother, even given all that had gone before. “Yes, there are similarities but that is all. Intelligence does not have a single, fixed path, not even one like yours.”

“There are many paths to destruction.” It came out flat, like a statement of indisputable fact, one that was inevitable.

“Sherlock…” He trailed off, waiting for some sort of response.

Silence bloomed for a few moments.

“I am going to screw this up, Mycroft,” Sherlock finally said, the seeming change of subject likely not unexpected by his brother. “I always do. It is only a matter of time – he said yes to bonding properly.”

That’s a good thing, surely?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said but there was an agitated tint to his tone.

He could feel the uncertainties still lapping at his consciousness, crashing stronger against it and leaving more behind each time it hit. He knew it was brought on by the unexpected threat, not just to the lives of John and the baby but to the health of the baby, and further aided by the looming threat of Moriarty, which had merely been slumbering.

The knowledge didn’t make a blind bit of difference to how he felt, nor did it help him suppress those feelings – and wasn’t that still a novelty, that he wasn’t in control of his emotions. Despite that, and the rest, he couldn’t bring himself to resent John for causing this. It wasn’t his fault, for one, and for another, he brought so many positive things with him, far outweighing anything negative. The mere thought of losing John, to anything, still filled him with dread and pain.

His brother brought him out of his thoughts, hitting straight upon the crux of the matter, as usual. “Ah. You’re worried that that will be the last time things will go as you wish in the relationship, and that John will live to regret his decision. No, you’re not merely worried, you’re certain of it.”

“…Yes.”

“Then why did you offer the bond to him in the first place? Why want it at all, if you are that convinced it will end in disaster for you, for you both?”

A large part of Sherlock wanted to sneer at his brother. It wanted to snarl and hurl insults, wrap him back up in his indifference and retreat behind his walls, safe and protected, where nothing could come to hurt him. Why had he allowed this to happen? He’d functioned, hadn’t he? He’d been living perfectly fine before, without an Omega or offspring, feelings and considerations, why couldn’t he have left well enough alone?

But he’d gained so much from John, too, even in the small amount of time they’d actually known each other. Would he really want to part with that for the comforts, the certainties of what he had?

The large part screamed that yes, he would, he’d gone too far into the world of instincts and emotions, the same world that he’d shielded himself from for so many years, for good reason!

The waves came crashing higher and higher, followed by the screeching, howling winds of memories and suppressed but not deleted pain, bearing down upon him again and again –

He squeezed his eyes shut. Yes, he knew why this was coming on now, or the most probable reason, but that didn’t explain why it was coming on so strong. It didn’t make sense; he’d handled worse far better, so why was this so –?

Arms wrapped themselves around him, gingerly, awkwardly, but with a tenderness and affection that didn’t tally much with normal behaviour nor fitted at all with the image the man normally projected to the world.

Nevertheless, as they did so, Sherlock felt a sense of calm start to seep into his mind, of the waves ebbing ever so slowly. It wasn’t as strong or immediate as with John, which wasn’t that surprising, really, given the fact that that they’d scent bonded after only the one meeting. But it was there and what was more…it felt familiar, somehow, rather than just familial.

“My…?” he said, his voice very small as he clung to the body in front, seeking more, seeking calm.

He thought he heard his brother mutter something like ‘all alone or in twos the ones who really love you walk up and down outside the wall’, but he could’ve been mistaken, as it was faint indeed.

Much clearer were the next words.

“This was considerably easier when you were little, I have to say, but in the circumstances, we can make do, I think.”

Sherlock lifted his head to look at the other, his whole face radiating confusion. However, he didn’t pull away from the embrace. It felt…good. Warm and safe.

He got a wry but warm half-smile in response. “No, I didn’t think you wouldn’t have deleted it. It sometimes happened when you were little, and your brain kept you up at night. You didn’t want to worry Mummy and Daddy, so you came to me. It normally helped.”

“Why did you stop?”

Mycroft sighed. “I didn’t, Sherlock. It became less effective over time and you became convinced you didn’t need I, so you stopped.”

“So why is it effective now?”

Because it was. It still didn’t rival John, of course it didn’t, but work it certainly did.

“I don’t know for certain. I am not a scientist. But I can hazard the guess that your connection with John is part of the influence and the difference, though obviously not the sole one. You scent bonding with him has left you open, left you vulnerable in ways you deliberately haven’t dealt with in years, for reasons both valid and not. With that in mind, is it that much of a surprise that you’d at some point end up in a mental tempest?”

“…Possibly not,” Sherlock mumbled, energy, both physical and mental, also slowly ebbing away, leaving him drained. “When did you become a psychiatrist, anyway?”

“I thought we could give the insults a rest.”

The brunet snorted softly, then said, “My…’m tired…”

“I know you are, brother mine. Let’s get you back where you belong, then you can rest.”

Sherlock didn’t remember reaching the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to take this long but I, as usual, thought it might be the last chapter and was proven wrong. It did run away from me but what has had me stalled is actually the sex because I know people expect more of what was in the first chapter and...I can't. I've tried, believe me, I've tried but when I have, it ended up...all wrong. Not to be overly dramatic but there were a few tears because I really do want to make it right. So...I needed a break from writing this altogether, in order to save it. I'm so sorry to disappoint you all but I wanted to prepare you a little.  
> Hopefully the explanations here, both 'scientific' and not, made sense, at least, and a few of the loose ends feel tied now, even if it isn't all of them. I know they're also still unsure in their heads but i hope it makes sense. Gods, I don't know anymore...I'll stop rambling now.  
> On the plus side, next chapter will be the last. Promise for real this time.


	14. Home, truly, at last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock finally make it home, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...I can only say a very deepfelt thank you to all of the extremely sweet people who left comments on the last chapter, especially the supportive, understanding ones. You guys are the very best readers.  
> I know it's taken four weeks but you get a long chapter to close this story out with. 12k should be alright, yeah? It's certainly up to my regular standards for a closing chapter. :)

As they neared the front door of 221 Baker Street, the drive there provided by one of Mycroft’s conspicuously anonymous cars, Sherlock could admit, if only to himself, that a smidgeon of nervousness had started creeping up on him again.

Before they’d left the hospital – after a stay of an extra few days while the Omega got checked what he thought he needed checked and was reassured as to the health of both himself and the child – John had expressed an unequivocal and quite emphatic wish to come home with Sherlock. Not to visit, not to stay while he sorted out some accommodation and work for himself. To live. With Sherlock. As his bond mate.

They hadn’t yet done the deed, as it were, but they were going to. Mycroft had made mention of a bonding ceremony which both John and Sherlock had adamantly refused. The Alpha might’ve thought the Omega would’ve liked it but John had looked him dead in the eye, his expression doing the talking for him, and it was crystal.

So, no bonding ceremony.

Regardless of whether they’d done the bonding or not, though, the fact of the matter was that the Omega was willing to move in with him, on a permanent basis. While he was pregnant and vulnerable – and it had all been John’s suggestion, too, with almost no input from Sherlock.

Not because he had been ambivalent, of course not, far from it. He’d just been afraid that if he’d opened his mouth, he’d say something that’d utterly dissuade John from moving in, and he wanted that so very, very badly.

Now that they were here, however, he had second thoughts. Not about John moving in, but whether the blond would actually want to, once he saw it, saw the things Sherlock kept and how he lived.

_Pull it together, he’s seen far worse._

Yes, and he’s been unattached this long, and not just because he’s been in a harem.

_You’re acting like a jittery teen on his first date._

Well…in a weird way, he kind of was. Yes, so they’d already had sex, they’d been in a life-threatening situation or two together, they’d faced dangers side-by-side and they were going to be parents to a small human being in far too short a time. For crying out loud, they were sitting as pressed together as car seats and seatbelts allowed, their hands locked, the silence between them comfortable.

But…this was showing John his sanctum, the place where he kept the things he cared about.

Having him reject that would feel like being rejected himself. The fact that he knew it was a stupid and irrational fear didn’t stop it at all, and he again wondered when his control had so completely eroded.

“Earth to Sherlock?” John said, voice soft, a wry half-smile on his lips.

“Hm?” he hummed as he returned to the world around him, noting that the thumb of the hand in his traced small, nonsensical patterns on his skin.

“We’re here, love.”

_Wonder when that endearment will stop making my heart skip a few beats,_ he thought, then surprised himself only a little with the addendum of, _I hope it never does._

Something must’ve shown in his expression because the half-smile turned into a full one and he got a kiss on the cheek.

When John untangled their hands to get out of the car, part of Sherlock wanted to drag him back, prevent him from exiting to postpone the reveal. Part of him wanted to do the same but more to snog him. Part of him was screaming that he ought to run out and be there to help his pregnant mate get out safely.

So, naturally, what he in the end did was remain perfectly still. That was, until John stuck his head back into the back of the car, his eyebrows raised.

“You coming? Or are you going to do a runner on me?”

It took him far too long to realize that it was only a joke.

“Of course, I’m coming.” He got out as quickly as he could, leading the way to the door.

John wouldn’t reject it. Of course, he wouldn’t. He was _John_.

 

* * *

 

If you’d asked John what he’d expected the flat of 221B to be like before he saw it, he wasn’t certain he could tell you, mostly because it kept shifting in his mind.

When he did step inside, though, he had to admit that at the same time, it was very different from what he’d imagined and _exactly_ what he’d pictured.

What surprised him most was probably not the décor itself but how…well, _homely_ and _right_ it all felt. It ought to be creepy but it really did feel as though he was the missing piece slotting right into place.

_Just like with the man himself, isn’t it?_ an inner voice pointed out, and he could only agree.

Of course, it didn’t exactly detract that the Alpha had evidently lived in the flat for some time. At least long enough for his scent to permeate the entire living room.

It probably ought to feel stifling or intimidating. Barring that, it ought to feel commanding, the sheer amount of pheromones and other scent-notes everywhere clobbering him into if not submission, then at least obedience.

It didn’t. At all.

Instead, it was the scent equivalent of settling into a chair you’d had for ages, one which had over the years conformed to your shape so perfectly that it was almost part of you, and you couldn’t ever imagine sitting anywhere else.

It smelled like _home_.

_Gods, yes._

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he did so to get the best olfactory experience possible without visual distractions.

Despite that, he didn’t miss Sherlock coming up behind him, his step…not hesitant as such but certainly not a confident stride. He felt the heat of the body behind him, carefully not touching him as the Alpha waited for the verdict, excited yet anxious.

_Bet if I turn around, though, his face will be carefully, exceedingly neutral and he will act as though it’s in fact inconsequential what I think. Or try to, anyway. Even if his scent didn’t give him away, up this close, he’s practically vibrating – and I felt him being tense for most of the ride here. Wonder whether he’s aware of it. Probably not, given everything._

The fact that Sherlock was nervous did a lot to help John’s own nerves. He still had doubts and worries and flashes of ‘what genuine interest could he possibly have in me, apart from novelty and successful procreation’. They hadn’t just died off instantly, that would be a little much to expect after how long they’d…well, more or less festered inside. But they had quieted to a relatively low murmur, only rising in volume in moments like this. When it did rise, however, it made up for its previous quietude.

Knowing that he wasn’t alone, that this was something they were fumbling their way through _together_ , though…that made far more of a difference than he would’ve thought. They might neither of them have much of a clue what they were doing or how it was going to turn out, but they’d find out together, as a pair, on equal terms, whatever the world might claim.

_The two of us against the world, eh?_

That he didn’t have a problem with…though, thinking about it, it would soon be the three of them against the world. Possibly even – no, not thinking about that. Not right now. Later.

Strange…Sherlock wasn’t moving any closer. Nor was he saying anything. He just stood there, waiting. Why?

Then he realized; he was letting John set the pace. Again.

_Treating me equally means not letting me make all the moves, either, you daft sod. But fine, I’ll lead this one._

So, rather than saying anything out loud, he took a step back, one long enough that he was just about touching the body behind him, experience making him adept at judging how far that was.

“John?” Yep, definitely trying for unaffected and failing miserably.

John tilted his head slightly back and to the side, to look up at the other. “You didn’t think I was expecting rose petals and red wine, did you? Or immaculate lavishness?”

“Of course not. You would hardly be receptive to them, in any case, so what would be the point?”

“True,” John said, smiling. _I’m no blushing Omega bride to be carried over the ruddy threshold._ “But you _have_ been nervous about how receptive I’d be to what was here.”

“Have not.”

The blond turned around at that. “Give over, you wanker, you have and all.” He was still smiling, though.

“You can tell from the scent.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Well, there’s that,” John conceded, stepping even closer, “but there’s also the way your eyes started darting around the car ever quicker as we got near the place, and how you practically vibrated on the spot, standing behind me here.”

This time, the Alpha didn’t deny it. “You noticed?”

“Yeah, _of course_ I did. I may not be a genius or a consulting detective but I’m getting to know the world’s only consulting detective and his tells just a little.”

He didn’t expect the reaction he got from that; Sherlock practically beamed.

He snaked his arms down and around John’s waist and the Omega let him drag him closer still.

“My clever John,” he rumbled, sounding beyond proud, which was a little odd but very sweet.

And he said _‘John’_ , not ‘ _Omega’_.

Apart from the note of possessiveness in that statement – something which he didn’t mind so long as it didn’t come remotely close to dominating in the relationship or prevent him from being who he was, which he strongly doubted would happen – the entire statement was quite something, and something extraordinarily good, at that, and not just the last part, though that admittedly was the proverbial cherry.

_The value he puts in me,_ he thought, _and the fact that he does is more obvious than Mycroft concealing something else within that umbrella, has nothing to do with my gender, primary or secondary._

_You knew that already, though, be honest,_ said his inner voice.

_I did, yeah, but it’s nice having it confirmed like this, regardless._

“My brilliant, tender Sherlock,” he replied, reaching up to run a hair through the dark, soft curls, a gesture which he was fast becoming very fond of doing. Especially when the Alpha obligingly lowered his head a little for better access and made a sound very similar to a purr. Of course, Sherlock vehemently denied that he did any such thing, which was fine.

A nose found its way into blond hair, disturbing hair as it moved and made soft snuffles.

“Comfortable, are we?” John joked after a few moments.

Sherlock lifted his head slowly, seemingly reluctantly, so he could look John in the eye.

He looked as though he wanted to say something but when he opened his mouth a little, no words came out. However, his eyes were quite the study in everything that he obviously couldn’t manage to put into words.

As he felt a lump rise in his throat as his heart swelled, John blinked rapidly a few times then drew Sherlock down again for a kiss.

“Welcome home, John,” Sherlock whispered softly when they parted. It sounded as though the words were not merely a statement but also the tiniest bit throwing a line out to test the waters.

_Pot and kettle, the two of us, if ever there was a pair, and prize idiots, too, come to think of it. At least we’re matched._

“Thank you,” he whispered back, leaning up for another kiss. Before their lips met, he murmured, “No place like it, is there?”

Then he closed the gap, aiming to make the kiss as slow, soft and warm as he possibly could, to savour the moment.

However, though Sherlock responded in that same vein and quite enthusiastically so at that, he soon felt the arms around his waist slip a little so that the bony, broad hands landed on his arse and cupped it. Not only that, as they cupped it, they also pulled a little, enough to bring them flush against each other.

From there, the kiss turned slowly heated, tongues coming out to play and tangle but not to battle, at least not for dominance. When one advanced, the other was willing to yield and vice versa, creating a back and forth that had John groaning into the kiss and pressing his burgeoning erection into a slim yet surprisingly muscular thigh.

Sherlock showed he was affected as well in other ways, too. The hands on his arse went from cupping to squeezing, one buttock in each as well as his worn and weathered jeans allowed, while an answering stiffening was making tailored trousers tighter.

When John slid his own hands up the torso in front of him, still kissing, he could feel the muscles quivering slightly underneath expensive, quality cotton and, once he reached them, he could feel the small buds that were the Alpha’s nipples.

Rubbing his thumbs over them both in a circular movement gave him a lovely response; not only did Sherlock utter a small gasp into the kiss, he pressed into the contact and the buds pebbled up under the ministrations, pressing against the tight shirt.

_Sensitive, eh? Was he that sensitive last time? Did I check? Would I remember if I did?_

Granted, he’d been far more clearheaded at that time than Sherlock had been, but that was hardly difficult or surprising, given the circumstances. Even so, there were things, and more than a few of them, that he could either only vaguely recall or not remember at all, and it wasn’t because it hadn’t been memorable. Probably it had been too memorable and there’d only been room to save so much afterwards.

Regardless of whether he remembered or not, the context was entirely different. It would be doing it for the first time for them both. Not because they’d become bonded as a result but because they saw each other as the individuals John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, not the Omega in apparent Heat – and he really was going to have to explain more of that one to Sherlock, or he’d be asking about it or trying to deduce forever – and the Alpha in Rut.

They’d see each other as _people_ , not gender or biology. Not influenced by anything other than themselves.

Those two facts really made a world of difference. If he could be sure that…

He detached himself from those sinfully curved lips, a move made a little more difficult by said lips following him, unwilling to end the kiss.

“Fuck, Sherlock, stop. No, just wait a minute. Are we doing this?”

How the brunet managed to roll his eyes through voice alone was fascinating. “ _Obviously,_ we are.”

“Not what I meant, you berk.”

Sherlock did pull back a little at that, studying John’s face. “Ah. John, I promise you I’m not under the influence of Rut or anything similar. I am lucid.”

“Yes, but so you seemed, to a certain extent, back then as well.”

There was a moment’s pause. Then a bony hand moved from his backside, moving up to pull at the collar of that high-quality shirt, exposing where the long neck met the shoulder but making no other move.

The implication was clear.

John lent forward, with no prompting or other gentle coercion from the Alpha, to scent at the neck.

There were not even the traces of Rut there. Just that wonderful scent. He found his nose pressing into the skin as he inhaled deeply, letting it wash over him.

_Yes._

“There’s something else, though.”

John tensed immediately and raised his head. “What is it?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

“You’ve just come out of the hospital.”

“I’m fine.” It came out a little harsher than he’d intended, defences rising automatically.

Sherlock wasn’t budging. He brought both hands up, one to rest on the blond’s shoulder and the other on his cheek. John let him.

“John,” he said, his voice soft but insistent, imploring, “I’m not doubting your capabilities or your strength. I would never. But you’ve not just been under stress for a long time, your body’s been slowly poisoning you. It’s been depleted of resources and it needs to rest.”

“I’ve done nothing but rest for almost a week.”

That wasn’t entirely true but bloody hell if he was going to allow –

A thumb swept gently over his cheek, underneath his eye. Although it was a small, almost insignificant gesture that ought to have gone unnoticed, it actually brought John up short.

He looked into pale eyes, the pupils still somewhat dilated, the warmth in them somehow enhanced by the dilation.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Sherlock said. “Is that so bad? That I consequently want you safe?”

Put like that, it made sense, and not just an instinctually-based one; John felt his anger dissipate almost immediately.

That was also rather…well, sentimental and sweet, two things that John rather suspected he was one of very few receivers of from the Alpha, given what he’d seen of his interactions with others in the time he’d been in hospital in particular.

“No, it’s not,” he said. “Not at all, and I appreciate it, and to be honest, I’d likely be the same if the roles were reversed.”

For that he got a raised eyebrow. “Alright, fine. I’d probably be a lot worse.”

“Occupational hazard.”

_Not instinctual or biological hazard._

“Yeah.” A pause. “Will you trust my occupational judgment that I’m fine to do this?”

At the same time he asked, he snaked a hand down to press a palm against the front of tailored slacks, where he met an erection that had softened a little but was by no means gone.

The gesture elicited a choked gasp from Sherlock. “Th – that’s cheating!” he managed to get out.

“Who said anything about playing fair?” He removed his hand, which earned him a displeased noise. “Seriously, though. Will you?”

“Of course.” The reply came instantly. If it was just the tiniest bit breathy, what of it?

John smiled. Then he leaned forward and up and kissed his Alpha hard and the brunet responded eagerly.

He grabbed hold of Sherlock’s shirt and began to unbutton it, starting from the top. As more and more skin got revealed, he let his hands explore each newly exposed area before moving on to the next button.

Broad hands tried to speed the process along, but he batted them away quite firmly. He wanted to take his time and get a proper chance to explore and enjoy it as much as possible this time.

It certainly didn’t detract that the skin – the muscles underneath a lovely bonus – he was tracing was soft and trembling ever so faintly under his touch.

Once the shirt was entirely open, he tried to tug it out of the trousers but was stopped by Sherlock grabbing hold of his hands.

“Let’s continue this somewhere a little more…comfortable,” the Alpha said, his voice lowered slightly in register, something which sent a small frisson through the doctor.

“But I wouldn’t know where that’d be, as I have only been showed this one room.”

“Well, then l had better give you the tour.”

John smiled, a fire in his eyes. “I think you’d better.”

 

* * *

 

They made it about as far as just on the inside of Sherlock’s bedroom before said owner was pushed against the wall and his throat practically assaulted with lips and teeth.

He groaned at that, but it was a groan of enthusiasm rather than protest. Between the living room and the bedroom he’d managed to shed his coat, letting it fall into an inelegant heap unheeded. He still had his jacket on, however, and he struggled to get it off without dislodging John.

Had he always been so sensitive? He couldn’t remember anything to that effect but then again, he hadn’t really ever been the type of Alpha who went out and got their knot wet at every given opportunity. Quite the opposite, consciously so.

Touching himself had never yielded such effects but then, he knew that there was a vast difference between the touches of others and that of your own hands. Still, though, the difference seemed quite remarkable.

Of course, he couldn’t deny either that a significant factor was that it was John, his brave, strong, kind, caring John. John, who was kissing him, touching him, in a sexual way, entirely of his own free will, and very enthusiastically so. His scent was in his nose and in his mouth, that wonderful, intoxicating aroma that had only gotten stronger and lovelier now that it had notes of pregnancy in it and was devoid of any notes signifying deterioration.

Fingers were at his shoulders, sliding beneath fabric, helping him rid himself of encumbering clothing and caressing him at the same time. Meanwhile, that mouth continued to lavish its attention upon his throat and upper part of his chest, licking, kissing and nibbling at him, sending more shivers through him.

_Marking,_ he realized through the slowly thickening haze of lust. _Marking me in every way that leaves the scent gland intact, because we agreed that we wouldn’t just yet. Marking where it’ll be visible, still partially so even if I wear my coat and scarf._

An Omega being that…territorial, or rather, being territorial in such an aggressive manner, leaving marks that couldn’t be hidden, was uncommon, to say the least and as an Alpha, he should on at least the instinctual level find it deeply wrong.

But…he didn’t. At all.

That didn’t mean he was going to be a passive participant in all of this.

As soon as both items of clothing hit the floor and his arms were free, he moved them to slide under the long-sleeved t-shirt John had been provided. His old one had been ripped open when they’d rushed him through to theatre. Sherlock would’ve gladly provided new jeans too but the blond had been adamant about keeping them.

Something that he’d kept from before his time in the harem, perhaps? Why would –

His momentary speculation, which was something of an achievement given what the majority of his brain was occupied with, even given his brain, was cut short when the mouth abandoned his throat and instead attached itself to one of the now exposed nipples, giving it the same thorough, if a bit gentler treatment.

Who cared whether he’d ever been this sensitive previously. What mattered was that he was here, they were _both_ here, willing to –

A careful graze of teeth made him groan and push into the contact. He managed to concentrate enough to move his hands down and, quickly, undo the belt and the button. Then he slid his hands down the other’s back, pushing the jeans down enough to let gravity do the rest. While they fell, he slid his hands back up a little and into the boxers, gaining a much better hold of that lovely arse than he’d had before, which he then took advantage of by pulling John both closer and higher, bringing him up on his tiptoes.

Instead of being indignant at this, the blond merely grinned, blue eyes sparkling.

“Well, then, if that’s how you want to play it,” he said. Then, his grin widening, he lifted one leg to hook it over, as best he could, one slim hip.

He didn’t seem in danger of falling, balancing himself rather well on little surface, but nevertheless, Sherlock instinctively tightened and secured his grip and effectively ended up carrying the shorter man. He noted that the other leg followed readily but despite the position, John was carrying as much of his own weight as it was possible to do, mostly gripping bony shoulders for balance.

_My strong mate._

What he hadn’t really accounted for was the fact that the position also brought, quite accidentally, his cock into contact with the still cotton-covered arse, said cotton being ever so lightly damp with John’s slick. The pressure against his erection and the clearer scent of the slick made him groan again.

“Didn’t think that one through, did you?” John asked, his grin turning downright impish. Then he pushed his hips and arse down and clenched a little, which caused a deeper groan and a slight thrusting.

Oh, no. No. He refused to let his base instincts take over entirely this time. He knew that with John in his arms, literally right now, he would be beholden to them somewhat no matter what, but he wanted to goddamn savour it this time and make his Omega writhe and moan in pleasure as much as possible.

Finding some sort of focus, he shifted his grip for a better hold, ignored the spark of pleasure that caused and bent his head a little, so he could lick a stripe up the side of John’s neck. When he reached the jaw, he nibbled along it.

The earlobe he nipped once then whispered into the ear, voice low, “Perhaps not but I’m a quick study.”

With that, he pushed off the wall, carrying his mate the short distance to the bed with ease, his mouth occupied with planting kisses wherever he could reach, John shivering minutely each time he went over the scent gland, which in turn sent out small puffs of more concentrated scent.

It took an enormous amount of effort, even without Rut, not to bury his nose where the scent gland was and just lose himself to the heavenly scent.

Once at the side of the bed, he didn’t just let go so the shorter man could fall onto the bed on his own. John may not be something preciously frail which he needed kid gloves for, but he wasn’t an object to be unceremoniously dumped, either.

Instead, he laid him down slowly, following him down. A neuron sparked to remind him that that he ought to keep an eye on John’s reactions; he had to remember that though he’d been a keeper, not just a member of the harem, he’d still had to deal with Alpha clients.

The traumatic experiences, though he’d never voiced it to Sherlock, would hardly be confined to his time in the military, far from it.

He started to pull himself back, to give the Omega space. However, John growled at that.

“Whatever fucking idea you’ve likely gotten into your head about my past sexual experiences, delete them. If I was uncomfortable with any of this, I would’ve told you, and I swear, if you try to stall this thing one more time, I’m tying you to the bed while I go buy the largest dildo I can find then make you watch me shimmy up and down that thing where you can’t reach me.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened at that. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me, princess. I want _you_ , not some Alpha brute or knight on a charger. If I’m uncomfortable with something, I’ll tell you, and I expect the same from you. Now _come here.”_

As he spoke, he lifted one leg back up and hooked it around Sherlock’s knees, pulling enough to make the Alpha lose his balance. He caught him only so much that his elbows landed on either side of John’s head, their torsos aligned.

Though a little off-centre, the position also brought their cocks together, separated by layers of clothing though they were.

Another shudder went through the brunet at that.

As much as he wanted, no, _longed_ to be inside his Omega’s wet yet tight passage, its walls gripping him on both thrust and withdrawal, Omega slick starting to trickle down his shaft and over his testicles, the muscles spasming as orgasm neared and came, he couldn’t deny that feeling that steely velvet of John’s cock, detectable even through the cotton of two pairs of boxers and his own trousers, was its own incredibly lovely experience. He pressed down as he gave a small thrust, the friction provided by the layers of cloth far more delicious than painful, even if he obviously would’ve greatly preferred there to be no barriers between them at all.

John thrust up in turn with a small moan. At the same time, he let his hands glide down a pale, bare back, the scrape of his fingernails against soft skin that rose in response registering as pleasure in Sherlock’s brain and he was torn between which pressure to push into.

So, he instead tried to busy himself with continuing his oral explorations of John’s delectable and nuanced skin. Each time he swept his tongue across, he seemed to get a different shade of that irresistible scent in taste-form. Had he been in a clearer state of mind, he might’ve tried to catalogue them. As it was, he buried himself in just experiencing, his tongue dipping, licking and swirling across each piece it came across, revelling in the quivers of muscles underneath, especially when teeth were briefly and lightly joining in.

Equally as delightful, if not more so, were the grip of hands on his back and the sounds that issued from his to-be bond mate at his ministrations down that exposed torso. No soft coos and delicate sighs came from the Omega. Instead, there was quiet but throaty moans, deeper groans and occasionally a choked noise, usually when he nipped somewhere, and especially

Impossibly, his cock hardened further at the sounds, and he couldn’t help the train of thought that went, ‘ _More, more, more!’_. He wanted more; more sounds, more touches, more of everything. He wanted to wring every sound of pleasure possible out of John.

One hand slid down the flank of the blond, moving stealthily more underneath him until it could dip into the waistband of the boxers and into the cleft, which was more than moist, despite the mutable fact that outside Heat, male Omegas didn’t tend to produce that much slick even when aroused.

Two long fingers followed that wetness to its source, being able to just about trace the outer rim of the hole, Sherlock groaning at the ease with which it gave under his touch, light though it was, and even more so at the way the body beneath his jerked and bucked under the touch.

It was beckoning him, telling him that it was ready for him to press inside, with his fingers, his tongue, his cock, everything that –

He never knew quite what happened then, or how. All he knew was that one moment he was above John, exploring him in as many ways at once as possible and the next, he was on his back on the bed, looking up at the Omega now above him on his hands and knees.

“Not yet,” was all John offered by way of quite unsatisfactory explanation, the impish smile back on his lips.

Sitting back on his haunches, he then grabbed the wrist of the hand which had so recently been about to enter him, the two fingers still shining with wetness and brought them slowly up towards…

Sherlock blinked, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

But there was no denying the feel of John’s lips closing around his digits and certainly not the way in which he hollowed his cheeks and lightly sucked, tongue making its way between the fingers. A small moan as he closed his eyes reverberated through Sherlock’s hand.

“John…” he groaned, his eyes riveted on those lips around his fingers. His cock, trapped and pressing hard against the too-tight fabric of his trousers already, twitched at the sight.

Then it twitched again, hard, as his mind supplied the substitute image of those lips stretched around his dick instead, sliding ever down, down, down…

The blond pulled off the digits with a wet pop, though he didn’t relinquish the hand entirely.

“That always tastes better than I remember,” he said, looking thoughtful. Sherlock could see, however, as he opened his eyes, that his pupils had dilated a little further.

“John…” He couldn’t even muster a care that he seemed to have been reduced to not just monosyllables but purely John’s name, mostly because that was pretty much all there was on his brain right now; John.

Who guided those saliva-wettened fingers down his own throat, over his clavicle, circling one nipple, then down over stretchmarks, past his navel, right down to the waistband of his boxers, where he helped them slip inside and push the fabric down, at the same time running down the length of his straining erection.

The entire time, he kept eye contact, smile gone and an intensity in those dark blue eyes that made both Sherlock’s breath catch and his dick throb. His scent gland as well, blood starting to rush to it in preparation for a bond.

Without his conscious say so, once the boxers were down, his fingers wrapped themselves around the shaft, starting to slide them up and down, revelling in the texture that he now got to feel full-on, with access to both sight, sound and toe-curling-ly-delicious scent and his full mental faculties.

For what those were worth, anyway, because as it was, even without Rut, he felt like he was sinking beneath the waves and he didn’t care a jot.

John groaned at the touch and bit his lip, but also bucked enthusiastically into the contact, despite the lack of lubrication, hand still on Sherlock’s wrist, guiding the effort.

Yes…that was it. John taking his pleasure from his Alpha as he should, willingly and openly, that look of mounting pleasure on his face, muscles flexing, slowly losing himself to it. Just…like… _that_.

A vague memory of being in a similar position last time flashed a fin, the other fin being that he did more than this, the taste memory having survived to resurface on his taste buds.

His mouth watered a little and he licked his lips. He wasn’t consciously aware that he was rumbling deep in his chest.

Part of him was still aching to be inside John right there and then, but the rest of him just wanted to immerse himself in his Omega in every way possible, scenting him and marking him. Effectively claiming him in as many ways as he could, making him lose himself in sensations until the only two things on his mind was Sherlock and pleasure.

_Then_ he’d take him, bury himself deep in that tight passage, knot him so hard there’d always be an indent in that outer rim, fill him to the point of bursting, overwhelm every sensory input with his scent and his being, erasing all evidence that there’d ever been anyone else inside, erase it from the Omega’s body, his mind, his –

Something soft touched his lips, gently, briefly. He blinked and stared into warm blue eyes, slowly surfacing, at least to some degree.

Was Rut possible at any given time, regardless of a Heat, of prior indications? Was he likely to fall beneath its spell every time he and his… _John_ got intimate? Would he then always lose control of himself?

The point seemed at least a little proven by the fact that though his head was swirling, his body was still deep in the throes of lust and his cock was as hard as before.

Another kiss was pressed to his lips. “I’ve got you, love. It’s okay.”

Before Sherlock could respond, he was pressed back onto the bed by strong hands. As he landed, curls bouncing slightly, he got another kiss, this time with tongues, distracting him, both from what John was doing and somehow, also from the Rut-like state to some extent.

After a moment’s glance at something on the bedside table, John shifted to settle himself between Sherlock’s legs. He quickly and efficiently unbuttoned and unzipped tailormade trousers, then, as he slid them down along with the underwear underneath, he licked at the shaft that emerged, first one long lick up what had been uncovered, then a series of kitten licks following the downwards motion of the fabric.

When the entirety of his erection was free, the tongue applied itself to his testicles, pressing just enough to as much as it could reach to have him buck into the touch, hips lifting off the bed. John used the opportunity to slide the garments the rest of the way off, resettling himself quickly enough that Sherlock didn’t feel his absence. Nor did he notice the quick reach for whatever was on the bedside table.

He must be in some sort of Rut because each touch felt more and more intense. Not exponentially so but enough that it was noticeable. His thoughts were also submerging again, enough that they were entirely focused on what that tongue and those lips were doing, taking one testicle into that warm, wet mouth to lave at it, only to slide over and do the same thing to the other.

Meanwhile, one hand had moved up to grasp his erection, moving up and down in counterpoint to the flick of the tongue. He didn’t notice either that the movement was slicked by something or that the hand never strayed far from the base of the shaft, squeezing at certain points. Most of his thought processes was dealing with the sheer intensity of the stimulation, which was flooding pleasure signals into every cell, probably assisted by the fact that nobody had ever touched him like that, never mind with such fervour, such ardour.

All this swirled together into a continuous explosion and it wasn’t long before he was at the brink of climax. There was something he ought to remember but he couldn’t focus, he just needed –

He did notice when both those movements stopped completely, and he growled deep in his throat, frustrated at being denied so close, and his hips bucked up and not slightly.

He got a growl in reply and it wasn’t a play-acted one, either. It wasn’t exactly aggressive, but it certainly got the message across that John wasn’t about to be ordered about, no matter the circumstances. It managed to penetrate even through the haze. His hips lowered on their own.

“I’ve got you,” John repeated. Then, almost as an afterthought or something that wasn’t meant to be spoken out loud, he added, “God, I’d love to fuck you…”

It took a second to filter through but once it did, it was as a bolt through Sherlock and he moaned, lowly but deeply as his scent thickened slightly.

His legs began to spread all on their own.

John’s eyes widened, and his scent thickened in turn. However, he put his hands on the knees, halting the motion.

“I want you to,” the Alpha rasped. “I’ve never thought…but I want you to. Fuck, John, please.” He managed to spread his legs a little further, despite the hands. “ _Please_!”

He heard the sharp intake of breath and could smell the release of slick, small though it likely was; though they were perfectly capable of producing slick whenever they were aroused, outright gushing in Omegas only occurred during Heat. Even so, knowing that the thought, the pleading aroused John enough to cause that clearly detectable olfactory-wise a release was quite pungent if one would pardon the expression.

Next thing he knew, he had a blond pressed against him from head to toe.

John’s expression asked whether he was sure, and he could do nothing but nod and let out a pleading noise. Then lips were capturing his again, hard, while a slicked hardness thrust against his own, again and again.

“Not…not this time,” John panted in between kisses, each as short but passionate as the last, “god, I want to…but want to take my time…open you up slowly…watch you fall apart in my arms…”

"We have time,” Sherlock groaned in turn. “All the time…you need!”

“No, we don’t,” the Omega growled, “because if you’re not inside me, filling me up, within the next few minutes, I’m using whatever else is at hand because I bloody well _need_ something in me right _now.”_

The last word was caught somewhere between a moan and a growl, a sound which went straight to Sherlock’s cock, which was straining as it was. There was something in that sentence, though –

John started to sit up.

No. No, no, no, he wasn’t moving away, he wouldn’t be putting something else into him! He wouldn’t! If anything was going up that tight, wet, soft passage, it would be Sherlock’s dick and nothing else.

His hands moved to grab hold of hips, to secure the shorter man in place. They didn’t make contact, however, because they were pushed away before they even got close. He was mollified by the fact that they were then laced with shorter fingers, which gripped them tightly.

John then used them as leverage, even though he evidently had no need for it, the knees moved so they were soundly placed on either side of Sherlock’s thighs, experience that the Alpha appreciated, even if he didn’t like to think about it, clearly showing through.

The fact that he nevertheless used them as such sent something through Sherlock, something which had nothing to do with his lower regions.

The Omega must’ve at some point removed his underwear completely because there was nothing to bar Sherlock’s view of John slowly lowering himself, slowly but surely, over where the Alpha cock was eager and waiting, the knot just starting to show. His hands were still tangled with Sherlock, his head wasn’t tilted down to check anything, rather the eyes were focused on pale ones and yet…there was no question on whether he was going to make the target.

When he did, when that first soft wetness touched and then engulfed the tip and then the head of Sherlock’s aching erection, it was enough to rip a deepfelt groan of pleasure from the Alpha, and it took all the willpower he yet possessed not to buck his hips up hard and sheath himself the rest of the way. As it was, his fingers tightened their grip on the blond’s hard, shaking slightly with the effort.

John merely grinned. “Patience, love, we’ll…oh, mm, _yes_ …we’ll get there.”

“I need you, John. _Please_ , I need you,” Sherlock moaned. Then he gasped as the Omega sank another inch, his movements carefully controlled, likely to turn Sherlock’s brain into pure mush. It certainly seemed that way when the movement was accompanied by a squeeze of the internal muscles, and said squeezing also sent a small glob of slick trickling its way down the shaft, wafting different notes of John’s enticing scent into the air.

Another inch he sank, with the same squeeze in the process, and another, and another, leaving Sherlock a moaning mess struggling to stay still.

_Fuck, I need…find a way…distilling…scent into…perfume…but only for me. Oh, fuck, John!_

By the time John was seated all the way, buttocks pressing against the top of lithe thighs, Sherlock was a trembling, almost hyper-ventilating mess in his effort to keep still and keep himself together, even for a given value of together. His eyes were closed, his breathing through the nose was audible, his jaw was tense and his grip on John’s hands was painful.

One hand was abruptly let go of. Instead, the doctor’s freed hand made its way into thick, slightly tussled, slightly sweaty curls, combing through it in a soothing manner. When it reached the back of the head, it moved to cradle it and gently urge it forward and down.

Eyes still closed, Sherlock let his head be moved willingly. Even so, he was surprised when he met where neck became shoulder rather than lips as expected. He registered that it wasn’t the side where the scent gland was located but even so, close proximity to it at this stage still meant it was permeating every sense that could possibly take it in. He couldn’t help inhaling again and again, his own hand coming up grab hold of that shoulder, for balance and anchoring.

It ought to be overwhelming, and it was, even as they continued sitting there. What it surprisingly wasn’t was all-consuming or debilitating. That didn’t mean it wasn’t affecting him as earlier but instead of being a disjointing, mentally fracturing experience it was comforting and helped bring his mind back online, as it were.

He was still trembling, even though it was calming a little, and he was still keen, if not just the teensiest bit desperate, to fuck John so thoroughly he’d be out of it with pleasure, it was just…he was in the driver’s seat, too.

“This oughtn’t happen,” he mumbled into skin. “It’s completely ludicrous.”

“Glad to see you appreciate it.” The hand slid up into his hair again.

“It’s helping, then?” John asked after a moment, quietly.

“Tremendously. I feel like I can think again and won’t lose myself again.” Slowly, Sherlock raised his head to lock eyes with his Omega. He licked his lips. “Doesn’t mean I don’t still want to bugger you senseless.”

John grinned. “That’s the spirit, gorgeous. Want my Alpha to well and truly remember our first time together.”

“But it –“

“It is,” the doctor insisted, a touch of steel in his voice, eyes boring into the other’s, “because this is something we _choose_. _Both_ of us, free of outside influences, _we_ choose. I want _you,_ Sherlock Holmes, for you, understood? Not for what you can provide me, not what you’ve already given me, not for anything other than I’ve grown to care for you, as the person you are, and _therefore_ want to be your partner, with all that that entails. Including both our sexual needs.”

There was no emphasis on the last sentence but then, there didn’t need to be.

Put like that, it was not only impossible to argue, it would be downright idiotic, because John was absolutely, incredibly right. His trembling intensified a little again, but it was for an entirely different reason.

Ignoring his engulfed but nevertheless neglected and throbbing erection for the moment, he tilted his head up a little to catch a kiss, one which John was happy to give.

When they parted the Omega leaned in a little further to whisper in an ear. “Now, could I ever so kindly ask you to bloody well bugger me well and good already?”

Sherlock’s breath was a sudden sharp intake which was then released through his nose. His eye glinted a little, though.

“Was that an order… _sir_?”

John didn’t hesitate. “If you have to _ask_ , soldier,” he said, command threading through his voice, even as the corners of his eyes crinkled, “we need to work on you yet, don’t you?”

Sherlock grinned and stole another kiss. “I think we do, sir. Thoroughly, sir, to make sure that it’s ingrained.”

“Oh, I think that can be arranged.”

With that, and before Sherlock had much of a chance to reply or do anything else, really, John rose up again in one smooth, evidently practised motion until only the head of the cock remained inside of him. He waited a beat, two, keeping perfectly still before he sank back down in that same smooth movement that should be impossible with how the muscles gripped the length parting them.

“John…!” Sherlock moaned deep in his throat.

He gripped the hand still in his tightly, trying to focus on that, let that be his anchor, and on keeping as still as possible. He still didn’t remember much from their…from the time they’d met but the doctor had told him quite a few details when he’d asked, one of them being about how deep he’d gone and how base he’d become. Not that John had phrased it like that, obviously, but it didn’t take a genius to infer, nor draw the lines to what he might’ve done in that state, either.

Now he had a semblance of mental control back, he was determined not to revert to that ever again.

_But what about the next time he has a Heat?_

There were suppressants for that, if need be.

Right now, his focus was experiencing this without succumbing to it, and actually, he found that focusing more on John helped this time. Earlier, it had just served to send him deeper. Now looking at the blond effortlessly raise and lower himself at a steadily increasing pace, his gaze locked on Sherlock’s face, helped to tether him to the here and now, to the reality, for lack of a better word.

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t experiencing the pleasure of it. Bloody _hell_ , was he experiencing the pleasure of it.

Every time John rose, he arched his back and accentuated the strength that was his torso, stopping right when only the head remained inside him every single time. Each time he sank down, he did so while squeezing his muscles, but also with enough force to press the growing knot inside of him.

Sherlock was aware that his own hips had started to thrust in the rhythm the Omega set quite on their own, holding still while he rose, then thrusting them up as he sank down, but as he wasn’t stopped, he let them. It only served to add to experience of being enveloped in that sweet tightness, one which wasn’t lessened despite the passage getting wetter. Not sopping as in Heat but still wonderfully slick, making it easier to part deeper and deeper, to hit the prostate almost every time, causing shuddering in the Omega.

It didn’t detract either that as the tempo increased and the knot started to grow – not as much as it would’ve while either Heat or Rut was present but still quite significantly – so John started to…not lose himself but certainly release some of the tight grip he had on himself.

Especially not when it manifested itself as thoughts given words, spoken in half-formed sentences around moans. “Gods…I’d forgotten how…oh, fuck, yes, that’s…mmmh…right there, feels bloody…nngh…fuck, give me more…more…I want _more_.”

At a later point in time, Sherlock would recall how none of the words that spilled from the Omega’s lips were the least bit meek or needy, nothing that would appeal to Alpha instincts rather than a person. But as that person, the words appealed to Sherlock, immensely, as did the fact that they were clearly uncensored, unstructured thoughts given voice.

“I’ll give you more,” he heard himself saying. “I promise. I’ll give you…fuck, I’ll give anything and everything you want.”

John paused in his movement for a moment, his eyes refocusing. Then he grinned as he started moving again, leaning forward a little.

“That’s very sweet of you,” he said, speaking consciously and clearly, “but more of that fucking brilliant cock pushing inside me will be more than fine. Well, that and some attention on my own dick would be lovely, too.”

He leaned further forward, a hand moving to push at Sherlock’s shoulder. When he got the message, he let himself go backwards slowly until he was flat on his back, John having followed him. Despite the now odder angle, he had only slowed in his rhythm, and the shudders, when they came, were significantly stronger.

Sherlock released the hand still tangled with that of John’s to grip hold of a hip, to help steady the doctor if not actually assist his movement. The other went to do as…no, not as asked, but as thinly veiled commanded, grasping the lovely length of the Omega in a firm but not tight grip, his thumb pressing on the underside as he did his best to match the rhythm and speed John was setting.

_This time, you’re **allowed** to touch him freely, without any caveat, _ flashed a thought before it swam back down.

The change in angle meant that the thrusts had to be shorter but that they could be more powerful, and they took advantage of that. Combined with the changed grip the internal muscles had on his erection, not to mention the sheer amount of stimulation he’d been provided through this and the longing he’d had for his Omega for such a long time, it wasn’t surprising that he was ratcheting towards orgasm with increasing speed, his thrusts coming faster and faster, though incredibly without faltering in their rhythm, which was helped by the knot not going quite as deep inside as before.

John, who was leaning on elbows placed on the bed behind the brunet’s shoulders, didn’t look far behind him; his mouth hung open a little, his eyes were closed, and he was almost oscillating between the dick in his arse and the hand around his cock.

Moans, groans, mewls and growls twined in the air around them with the sounds of flesh meeting, and it was impossible to say whose utterance was whose.

“Fuck, John…oh, fuck, I can’t…I’m about to – “ Sherlock gasped.

“Do it. Oh, Christ, do it. Fill me. Knot me.” He leaned closer.

“Want you to bite me,” he whispered, almost touching cupid bow lips. “Want to bite _you_.”

Sherlock looked at the other for only a short moment. Then, without a further word, he tilted his head to stretch and display the side of his neck where his scent gland was. The invitation was unequivocally clear.

John moaned at the sight and moved his head. He didn’t bite down immediately, however, which he could’ve done and still started the regular bonding process, given that the scent bond was already present.

Instead, he licked at it, fast licks that were alternating between long and small that sent the flesh tingling and, to be honest, throbbing a little.

Sherlock growled appreciatively, his hand on John’s erection tightening as he sped up. John pushed his shoulder forward, too, the implication clear, and the brunet moved his own mouth over, lips touching the flesh beneath which lay the scent gland.

The blond moaned deep in his throat and practically rammed down, the knot pushing all the way inside of him. There it expanded further, and while not as much as it would’ve done with either Heat or Rut and thus it wouldn’t lock them together for long, it was certainly enough to put delicious pressure on places that radiated pleasure.

John groaned and, opening his mouth wide, bit down hard enough to break through the pale skin, rupturing the scent gland.

What kind of noise the Alpha made at that was hard to classify, as it was a cacophony of noises of pleasure. Instinct kicked in and he bit down too, trying to keep enough wits about him to remember not to bite too deep or rip in any way.

As he, too, ruptured the scent gland, an explosion occurred, one that was two-fold; one in body, spilling his seed hard inside John with a roar that was only muffled because it had to travel through flesh and bone instead of air, and one in mind as the regular bond took hold and intertwined with that of the scent bond.

He was aware of liquid warmth shooting over his fingers and onto his stomach but rather vaguely so, as it all blended together into one enormous, almost incomprehensible vortex of sensation, sinking him to its depths.

The last comprehensive thought he had before his mind shut down was;

_We’re together now. To break such a bond is nigh impossible._

_…Thank you._

 

* * *

 

Sherlock was sleeping deeply when John woke up, sprawled across the bed and a good portion of the blond, too.

It was late, or perhaps early. He couldn’t tell; his sense of time seemed to have completely evaporated in a wonderful sea of pleasure and affection. One would’ve expected an Omega of John’s age might struggle a little outside of Heat to keep going like they had but then again, expectations tended to be limiting.

He stretched his nevertheless tired body as best he could, considering his current position, feeling muscles protest and joints crack. In particular, one part was sore, bordering on painful, and his fingers soon found the tender left side of his neck, gliding over the indents and raised skin of the wound gingerly.

Bonded. Now there was a word he never would’ve thought he’d use in relation to himself, let alone scent bonded as well. Well, no, perhaps sometime in his youth, he’d had some thoughts to the matter, but they were fleeting at best, given his ambitions and personality.

_Really? Because you only had those in your youth, did you? There was no string of hook-ups after you were discharged? No attempt to find some sort of purpose before the harem? None of which proved successful, of course, but that didn’t stop you trying, did it?_

No, it hadn’t, but that was a completely different set of circumstances than either his teens or now. Trying to find new purpose in a life suddenly bereft of anything resembling purpose was not something he’d apologize for, not even to himself. Doing so would be not only be missing the point and redundant this long after, it’d be dishonest and a little hypocritical.

Even with that in mind, if he’d be able to time travel and tell his younger self, whether it’d be his teenage one or the older one just discharged, that he would find an Alpha who not merely accepted him as he was but downright loved and preferred it…he’d not have believed a word of it.

Then again, there was no denying that Sherlock Holmes was quite unbelievable and about as atypical an Alpha as they came, apart from the possessiveness, and even then, compared to most Alphas John had seen, especially in the harem, he was relatively mild and what there was could be handled.

There was of course the risk that as John’s pregnancy progressed, he’d become steadily more aggressive and possessive, protecting his offspring from any and all threats, real or imagined, and that would extend to the carrier of said offspring, too.

Somehow, though, seemed…well, he couldn’t really say they were remote because he’d seen glimpses of it emerge already and he wasn’t all that far along. By the time he was fat and waddling, there was no reason to suspect that the Alpha wouldn’t be overly protective.

But Sherlock was Sherlock, not just an Alpha, and he was certainly more than capable of defying expectations, the doctor had learned, to both his pride and his frustration.

Perhaps the best, the smartest strategy was to take things as they came and deal with them then.

Relaxing back against the bed with the intention of getting another wink or two before Sherlock woke up, or else just take a moment to enjoy this first time actually waking up together, it turned out that he was too late.

The body half on top of him gave a sleepy groan and sought to burrow deeper. The problem in that was that there was only a limited amount of give in John’s chest and stomach, which seemed to displease the man, judging by the noise and his renewed attempt.

Then something must’ve come back online because he stilled suddenly and completely.

A head topped with sleep-matted curls rose slowly to where its owner could look at his new bond mate. Pale eyes held wonder and affection as they stared at him, as though they couldn’t quite believe what it was that they were seeing but were incredibly grateful that they were.

John knew how he felt.

“Hey you,” he said softly, his voice sleep-laden, raising his hand to let it slide through those curls. His fingers encountered the tangle but pushed through regardless, encouraged by the fact that Sherlock pushed up into the contact. Even sleep-tangled, they really were extraordinarily lovely to touch, quite apart from just the fact that he was allowed to.

“Hello,” Sherlock answered, and his sleep-roughened voice sent a little frisson of something through the blond. He was too tired for arousal right now but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it.

He watched the pale eyes flicker from his own eyes down to his bare shoulder, or rather, the bond bite, which in turn made John look at the one he’d made on Sherlock’s shoulder.

It looked fine, a little red perhaps, but that was to be expected. There was nothing to give any cause for alarm in his medical opinion, which assuaged one worry, at least.

Still…they’d agreed to wait, hadn’t they? Even though they’d said no bonding ceremony, they’d agreed to wait and yet…

“Stop thinking so loudly. It’s distracting.”

“You can’t _think_ loudly.”

“You can, and you are.”

“Alright, then, smart-arse, what am I thinking so loudly about?”

He got a derisive raise of eyebrow for that. “Obviously, the bond bites. Your eyes moved to look at mine the moment I looked at yours and your scent spike a little when you did so. If you have any notion that I’ve regretted it, then it’s completely ludicrous.”

John blinked. Then he snorted.

“Piss off. As if you’ve not been worried and uncertain, too – my nose works perfectly fine, thank you very much.” He couldn’t quite help the small smile spreading over his face, though. “It was just that…well, we agreed we’d wait, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Sherlock confirmed. “However, we never said how long we’d wait.”

He paused, his eyes searching John’s face. “ _You_ don’t regret it, do you?”

“No, of course not. Wouldn’t have agreed to it if I had second thoughts, and I meant what I said earlier.”

Sherlock smiled at that, a slow, warm smile that lit up his entire face and sent John’s heart to a jump and a skip.

He lowered his head to press a soft kiss to the smaller man’s chest then moved around a little, so he could continue to kiss his way down to the stomach, which had already softened and swelled lightly with the life hidden beneath it. When he reached it, his hands came up to caress it in tandem with the kisses.

“Sherlock…” John said. He couldn’t say whether it was a warning, an admonishment or a plead to continue. Possibly mostly the latter even if he’d intended the former.

It didn’t matter, though, as it was completely ignored. His belly was positively lavished with attention, including his stretch marks. In fact, they were almost given more attention than the rest.

He asked about that after he’d managed to get Sherlock back up for a proper kiss.

Sherlock smiled. “I like the thought of why you have them.”

“What, that I’ve been…that I’ve…” Even now, talking about it wasn’t always easy, especially not when he didn’t have anger as a crutch.

“Yes.”

“Even though you’re not – “

Sherlock pulled back a little to give him a serious, considering look. “John, I’m an Alpha. I’m not a caveman, though I grant you the two often seem interchangeable. An Omega in your circumstances at your age, it would’ve been quite the feat if you’d never been pregnant at all. Why would I resent you for having been or for the fact that that child was not mine? I’m possessive, yes, and more than I would’ve expected to be, it doesn’t take a genius to see that. I am not that stupidly so.”

John would have to concede he had a point, and a very good one, and so he nodded.

“That’s still quite a leap to actually liking them, even by association,” he pointed out.

“We all have our little idiosyncrasies.”

“Yes. Except that yours aren’t little and make up a large part of you, to boot.”

“Pot.”

“Kettle.”

“Mmh.” Broad hands made another sweep over his stomach, thumbs pointedly dipping into the marks. “Especially when I look forward to see more appear as you grow.”

John blinked, a little surprised despite what he’d learned about his bond mate. “You know, I can’t say I would’ve ever pegged you as somebody interested in offspring much less the process getting there.” He paused, thinking. “Then again, wouldn’t have pegged you as interested in a mate, either, so…”

“We live and learn.”

“That we do.”

They lay in silence for a while, exchanging lazy kisses and just enjoying each other’s company. That was what John was doing and he felt that Sherlock was on the same page.

He also couldn’t help marvelling slightly still at the fact that this comfort, this unadulterated happiness seemed to be genuinely his, with no strings attached.

Even so, or possibly because of the extent of his happiness, there was just the tiniest little bit of doubt lurking in the depths of his mind, like a fish sleeping at the bottom of a very deep pond. Surely the universe couldn’t allow this much happiness in one person, not without presenting some kind of nasty bill.

_But that was always the case, wasn’t it?_ his inner voice asked, and he realized it was right. Worrying about it certainly wouldn’t make it magically easier to handle when, or if, the issue actually came, he’d learned that in the course of all of this. Or perhaps relearned it or even remembered it, he wasn’t entirely sure.

Whatever the case, whatever the possible or likely bill that he would have to pay in the future, he would enjoy what he had right now and not spoil it by focusing on what might be coming.

Time passed, though he wasn’t quite sure how much.

“John?” Sherlock asked after what had to be a while.

“Yes?” His reply was a little sleepy, the exhaustion and stress of the last many days catching up to him at last, the sleep he’d had earlier not nearly enough to balance it out.

It took a few moments for the next words to come.

“Would you allow me to investigate?” he asked, his voice…not exactly hesitant, as that would imply uncertainty. Rather, it sounded more like he was navigating stepping stones and treading carefully so as not to fall into the water.

“Investigate what? The harem? I thought Mycroft was already working on that.”

He’d been asked to help to the best of his ability, in another little one-on-one with the elder Holmes where Mycroft had surprised him by providing him with a USB drive which he said held a selection of digitized pictures of Sherlock in his childhood, and of course he’d agreed. He wanted to make sure that nobody would come after the liberated Omegas, ever.

“He is. That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Then perhaps you ought to be a teensy bit clearer on what you do mean.”

“I meant investigating where the child is.” A hand traced over the stretch marks once more, making it clear which child was meant. Not that it took significant powers of deduction to work it out, really.

John felt his chest tighten at that and his throat get a little dry.

Yes, Mycroft had said he’d…no, he hadn’t quite _said_ , had he? He’d _insinuated_ that he would help John locate the child, his little girl, they took from him. It hadn’t yet gone beyond that and to be honest, he hadn’t entirely believed the man. Not because he was an Alpha but because he was a government official.

This here, however, that was something else, mainly because though the similarities between them were greater than they probably would’ve liked to admit, there were still differences.

Sherlock saying he wanted to investigate was something far more substantial than Mycroft’s implications that he would. That he wasn’t saying but asking lent a sweet, considerate touch.

That said…

“Investigate…that’s not just because it might be an interesting case, is it?” he asked, needing the clarification. Not because he distrusted his mate, quite the opposite, but as he’d learned, Sherlock did usually work on other parameters than almost everybody else.

“What? No, of course not!” The immediacy of the reply as much as the words themselves made it convincing. “Why would…ah.”

He placed a hand gently on the Omega’s neck, careful to avoid touching the still sore and healing bond bite, the thumb smoothing over what skin it could reach over and over in a gesture both soothing and comforting.

“John, I know you’re aware of my career, my interests. My focus. Considering that, I can’t blame you for your line of thinking, but I assure you that I’d never offer to investigate something that is so important to you merely for the thrill of the chase.”

The blond covered the bony hand with his own, caressing it, noting again in the back of his mind that gestures considered silly and soppy didn’t feel much so when the situation was right.

“Thank you,” he said, meaning it wholeheartedly. “But…if we do find her,” _and she’s alive, “_ I…I don’t think I can let her go. Not again.”

Sherlock frowned in clear incomprehension. “No one would ask you to.”

“I need to be sure you understand, Sherlock.”

The uncomprehending confusion deepened. “That you want to have your eldest child back? Of course.”

“Not just that. That she’d…that it wouldn’t just be the one child you’d be raising.”

The words almost tumbled out and he waited, breath baited, to see what reaction Sherlock would have.

_So…despite all of this, all that have gone before, you don’t trust him to want both your children in his life?_

His inner voice was sneering, and when he thought about it, he couldn’t blame it. It was stupid, and it was unfair of him. Sherlock had proven that he wanted John, with all that entailed, more than once. Why else would he have done all that he had to get to the Omega?

He forced himself to relax and breathe normally. He trusted Sherlock, otherwise he wouldn’t have accepted the bond bite, after all.

His trust proved founded when he got a look that said, ‘must you really insist on being this dense?’, quite clearly.

“Obviously not. A ship cannot be crewed by a mere two people.”

“I…what?” It was the doctor’s turn to look confused.

Sherlock smiled and didn’t answer. Not that part, at least. “I want her to come here, John, to stay. Whether it’s one or it’s ten, so long as it’s together with you, as a bonded pair, I want to raise them all.”

John blinked, touched by the admission and the quiet, sincere way it was spoken in equal measures.

“That…that’s quite the…”

“The statement?” Sherlock finished for him. John nodded.

The brunet shrugged. “Not so much if it’s the truth.”

“Still, though…” John trailed off as he looked down. Then he looked at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye.

“You are serious, are you?” he asked, voice careful.

“Perfectly serious. Including about the possibility of more.” He paused, a thought seeming to occur to him and the confident, calm demeanour faded slightly, to be replaced with what, John was coming to recognize, both in expression and scent, was slightly uncertain but still hopeful. “Only if you decide you want them, of course.”

John felt his lips curve in a big smile all on their own, impossible to stop or even mitigate, though he’d no wish to, in any case.

_Oh, love, you have no idea, do you? You’re being incredibly sweet and caring, extraordinary considerate and supportive and fucking adorable all at the same time, and you mean it all, too._

Another thought popped up right on the heel on that one. _I’ve just about found the best possible Alpha, haven’t I? Well, I guess I knew that from the fact that we developed an actual scent bond but still._

“If it’s to be decided at all, and that’s something of an if, given my age,” he said out loud.

“You’re not at all that – “ Sherlock interrupted.

“ _If_ it is,” John repeated over the interruption, “then it’s a decision that should be made by both of us, in unison. If we’re equals, then it goes for every major decision, and having another child is a pretty major decision.”

“Whether it’s two or five children, the act of raising them isn’t different.”

“Five children…where did you get five from? I know you said ten earlier but five seems slightly random.”

Sherlock smiled and stole a kiss.

“I think we ought to take you to have a sonogram sooner rather than later,” he whispered against John’s lips, the smile still on his own. “Don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this turned into much more of a connection of the two through several means than just the smut (still sorry to those who expected that, thank you to the ones wanting fluff or just a happy ending), but I actually ended up liking this - thank you, everyone! Genuinely. Made a sort of parallel to the start, I think. Or maybe I'm reaching, who knows? Hope their growth and confidence is believable.  
> Anyway, this is it. Tied up and wrapped up and everything, I believe. I did write something else but that seemed such sequel-bait, which I didn't intend, that I decided to rewrite it.  
> Feedback is as always loved and treasured, hope you've enjoyed it and thought this a worthy ending to the story. Thanks to everyone who's been reading :D

**Author's Note:**

> Phew...that was something of a long chapter to start off on.  
> I will apparently never get less nervous about posting a first chapter to something, especially not when I go outside tried and true. I hope you've enjoyed this so far and will want to see the rest of it. :) That said, I really love writing John in control. :)
> 
> Feedback is very dearly loved and treasured! If nothing else, it'll help me improve, if the criticism is constructive :)


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